Beyond the Realms of Reverie: A Dream of a Dragon
by ellasilverdewdrop
Summary: A fortune teller foresees blood and darkness in Diora Starr's future on her 18th birthday. When Uldred uses an Eluvian to summon the modern-day girl into Thedas and use her as a living sacrifice, she embarks on an epic quest to find a way back home. What destiny awaits her? And what of the growing love she has for the Grey Warden Alistair? Rated M for future content. Expect some AU
1. Prologue

_**AN: as of 10-28-14, the title has changed to BTROR: A Dream of A Dragon**_

_Hi, everyone! Thanks for dropping in! __**Beyond the Realms of Reverie: A Girl in Ferelden**, focuses on a girl named Diora, who is literally whisked away into Thedas through the Eluvian. I wanted to model the story in the fashion of a high fantasy fairy tale. "It's not a story in which the characters grow up, it's a story in which they they draw on the strengths they already have inside them, brought out by the particular circumstances."_

_Expect lots of adventure and romance. It's going to be epic! =) I invite you to follow and thank you for your support and patience and reviews as the chapters get revised and posted. __After all, if you don't review it, how do I know if you like it?_

_And thank the Maker for Bioware, the creators of Dragon Age, Alistair, and the rest of the characters we love and care so much about (or hate, for that matter)._

* * *

**Prologue**

**The Boy and the Star**

"Clear your mind, child, and listen to what the stars have to tell you…"

Had she been hypnotized? Dreaming? Or was it been a vision brought on by the scents on mothballs, herbs, and burning incense? Diora herself had no clue. She only knew that as soon as she gazed into that crystal ball, the veil of space and time was drawn aside, and she stepped into a place beyond the realms of reverie…

A small cloud filled the crystal ball, shaping itself into an entirely different scene. Her bluish-grey eyes, so clearly reflected in the gazing ball mere seconds ago, were gone. Diora saw an entirely different scene playing out before her, a quiet hayloft with dust floating from the wooden beams in the rafters.

Gone was the crystal ball. Gone was the ratty fortune teller's shop. She was no longer sitting in the chair she had been sitting on. She was in the barn loft now.

A young lad, no more than ten years of age, slowly stirred from his slumber on a soft bed of hay. He brushed aside the thick wool blanket and yawned rather languorously, only to huddle back in the blanket's warmth as the cold nipped at him. His still sleepy eyes stared lazily through a streaky glass paned window and into the grey morning light.

An ordinary observer would have seen a young urchin boy, more often covered in mud than not. He was garbed in a thin, tattered, yellowed white shirt and a worn out pair of tan, patched-up breeches. He had a small, dust-streaked face and a head of untidy blond hair. His lips were wide, and so were his eyes, which looked like ambered honey in some lights and moods and deep hazel brown in others.

But Diora saw something else. Beneath the smudges of dirt, the forehead was broad and full. As they awakened, the eyes were intelligent but full of mixed longing and sadness, as though the boy was earnestly and hopelessly searching for something.

He looked so sad…. Why?

She looked out the window, hoping to discover what it was the young boy was searching for. From the high vantage point in the hayloft, she could make out the entire village nestled in the red hills and cradled by the gently lapping waters of great lake. A chilly late autumn wind swept across the lake through the village, carrying with it the mingling scents of smoke and hay, dead leaves and fish brine. Though the sun's rays had not yet broken through the eastern horizon, the horses were already stirring in their stalls. An old barn owl, satiated after a successful night of hunting, hooted softly and rustled its feathers before perching on a rustic ceiling beam to slumber for the day.

But the boy wasn't looking down at the village. He was looking up at something in the sky.

Her gaze followed his up into the sky. A a lone star, a twinkling yellow sparkle of light in the eastern skies.

A Golden Star.

As if he sensed her presence, the boy turned his face to hers and their eyes met. Something lit up in his eyes. Surprise? The boy stood up from where he sat and slowly started walking towards her.

Then she was drifting, drifting, drifting…

The barn loft and the boy, who was now running and shouting after her, were shrinking, shrinking, shrinking...

Drifting, drifting, drifting….

She was now outside the crystal ball.

A cloud once again filled the ball, smoking, thinning, clearing.

Diora was back in her chair, back in the fortune teller's shop, gazing fixedly into the crystal ball.

A voice, thick and raspy, whispered to her,

The inevitable time is soon to come, be it for good or evil.

Your spirit dances under the moon of uncertainty.

Your star shines ever more in the dominion of the Red Dragon.

Your reflection is cast in the mirror of illusion, darkness, and blood.

The great power of the sacred blood within you will emerge.

Fate will lead you to one who is destined to stand vigilant in the shadows.

As he shall be your savior, so you shall be his.

* * *

_**AN:** So what's up with the star? I love symbolism and recurring themes. This story will have lots of references to those little twinkling celestial object that dots our night skies. I thought I would make it a personal challenge to try to include the word "star" at least once in every chapter, kind of like Psych (love that tv show, so sad it's over! T_T) and the elusive pineapple. I dunno, we'll see it I'm up to the task._

_Dear readers, what did you think? Reviews are always appreciated. If you feel like sending a nastygram, then please have the courtesy to do so in a pm._


	2. Ominous Reflections

**Chapter One**

**Ominous Reflections**

Diora Starr never knew what fate really had in store for her. She had her passions and her dreams, and like every normal teenage girl, her life was full of hopes and worries and exhilaration. She was ever always the practical and proper child: the teacher's pet, the straight A-student, the apple of her parents' eyes, the overachiever who always carried herself with dignified confidence. She loved books, especially books about epic adventures and romance. In all, she was your normal, practical, overachieving, Ivy League bound teenager.

But stories about proper, ordinary people are rather dull.

As it turns out, Diora was soon to find out that she was not so ordinary after all.

This is the story of how the Diora's extraordinary destiny unfolded.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

It was one of those lovely late spring afternoons that had been granted a soft kiss of the pleasant summer to come. The sun's warmth and the cheerful peal of children's laughter enveloped the neighborhood in a delightful gentle air. One house along the street in particular was showered in a bridal flush of pinky-white blossoms, hummed over by a myriad of bees.

Unfortunately, for a certain girl in an upper bedroom of said house, the day was not quite so bright and cheerful. Her cell phone was flashing on her desk, indicating several missed - or rather, in this case, _ignored_ \- messages. An empty tub of butter pecan ice cream had been carelessly tossed amongst a pile of stuffed animals. A half-eaten bag of sour-cream-and-onion potato chips crinkled beneath her as she flung herself across a soft bed in a state of malaise. She groaned wretchedly to herself and buried her face into her pillow. Despite her resolve, the dam holding back her wellspring of sadness cracked, and it was enough for tears to come crashing through.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

"Go away! I don't want to talk about it!" the young girl's muffled voice shouted at her visitor. She didn't care to lift her head. She just wanted to hide away in this room and wallow in her sorrow and misfortune.

"I don't care, Diora! The knock was just a courtesy. I'm coming in anyways!" sounded a rather authoritative voice from outside the door.

The bedroom door swung open, and a waifish, boyish girl with a long face, full lips, and a sharp jawline and pointed chin assertively sauntered into the room. Her pronounced features were softened by her very full brows and a wide, doe-eyed expression. She had starry sapphire eyes, which onlookers often mistook for violet, that sparkled with spirit and vivacity. Her ivory and rose-petal complexion was made even more translucent by her ebony hair, cropped in a _gamine_ style, which suited her childish tomboy appeal.

Though Diora's eyes lacked the striking sparkle of her friend's, they were quite conspicuous in their own way: blue one second and grey the next, and sometimes not quite so blue and yet not exactly grey, either. They were usually very big and clear, full of a deep thoughtfulness that suited her sensible and grounded nature. At the moment, they were clouded over, much like the color of a summer storm.

The rest of Diora's features were softer and more rounded than her friend's; an oval face with delicate brows and a generous mouth. A pink peony glow flushed upon her creamy complexion, and a pair of dimples appeared on her cheeks when she smiled or pursed her lips. Her long chocolate-colored locks were usually neatly tied back in a practical ponytail or twisted up into a bun.

"What do you want, Aeries?" Diora raised her head and looked up at her best friend.

Aeries detected the hint of annoyance in Diora's voice. She scoffed in mock offense and placed a hand across her chest. "Well! Excuse me for being worried about my dearest friend in the world and coming over to make sure she was still alive! You missed class today, and you never miss school. And you've ignored all my calls and messages," she answered, her head swinging in tune to her voice with every word.

"You know why I can't leave the house. I'm cursed, Aeries," Diora moaned. She sat up and reached for the nearby box of tissues on her desk. She blew her nose and then hugged the pillow close to her chest for comfort.

Aeries assertively walked over and plopped down on the bed next to her friend. "Your mom told me about Harvard. I'm sorry about your rejection letter. I don't know how that place can take in Reese Witherspoon, but leave someone was brilliant as you out. You're way better than she is."

"I'll never be able to watch _Legally Blonde_ again," Diora lamented.

Aeries gasped when her foot bumped into the empty ice cream carton on the carpeted floor beside the bed. "Ice cream! Wait - aren't you lactose intolerant?" Then her hand brushed up against the crumpled up foiled bag on the bed. "And potato chips!" she exclaimed. Aeries shook her head in wonder and suppressed a chuckle, though the laughter was evident in her sparkling sapphire eyes. "Girl, you are going to suffer for that later, I can assure you."

"That fortune teller…she practically predicted my death and cursed me," Diora concluded. "How else can you explain everything that's happened?"

"Getting rejected from Harvard was a due process. All those accidents this past week were just bad luck," Aeries tried to reason with her friend. "And the rest is just hormones," she added for humor.

Diora remained unmoved.

Driving on the road and having a loose pebble crack your windshield was bad luck. Having a giant zit pop up on your face the same day as yearbook pictures day was bad luck. Winning awesome, front row seat tickets to a concert and then finding out they were really tickets to a Justin Bieber show was bad luck.

What Diora had gone through this past week was much, much worse. In fact, she had a different experience for every day of the week so far.

Diora had brushed off nearly being run over by a speeding car immediately after leaving the fortune teller's shop as _**merely a coincidence**__. _

It had been _**bad luck**_ when, the following evening during Diora's birthday celebration at her favorite restaurant, she started choking hard enough on her own birthday cake that a waiter needed to perform an emergency heimlich maneuver on her.

The day after her birthday, she had a _**near miss**_ when she slipped in the shower and barely managed to catch herself on the bar of the shower door.

She could no longer ignore the real possibility of being _c__**ursed**_ after the incident in chemistry lab, when the contents in her flask had exploded and caught fire, effectively melting the surface of her workstation into a hulking, bubbling glob and nearly singeing her eyebrows off in the process.

After a particularly nasty tumble down a flight of escalators while shopping at the mall (resulting in a minor concussion, multiple bruises, lacerations, and 4 stiches on her left knee), Diora was convinced that _**DEATH**_ was out to get her.

"There's a difference between _bad luck_ and _NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES_!" Diora screamed, waving her hands wildly into the air.

Aeries rolled her eyes at Diora's theatrics. "You should consider a career in acting. You would be good at it, especially if it's an angsty, teen telly show. Less _90210_ and more… hmm… I know! More like _Dawson's Creek_. That's a classic."

"Ugh! Can't you ever be serious?" Diora buried her head into her pillow.

Apparently, death in the physical sense was not enough. Fate fully intended for her to suffer academic death as well. The courtesy "we sincerely wish you will find fulfillment at another fine institution [just not ours]" note from Harvard arrived in a small envelope by post just yesterday.

And it had all started with that fateful trip to the fortune teller's shop. Diora shuddered, recalling the fortune teller's beady black eyes and weathered face. She could still see those gnarled hands hovering over the crystal ball. Musk, mothballs, and incense permeated her sense of smell. A low, raspy voice penetrated her thoughts….

_The inevitable time is soon to come, be it for good or evil. _

_Your spirit dances under the moon of uncertainty. _

_Your star shines ever more in the dominion of the Red Dragon. _

_Your reflection is cast in the mirror of illusion, darkness, and blood…_

Aeries adopted a cheerful tone. "Alright. In all seriousness, then, if you really believe that old lady, shouldn't you be a little more excited? Didn't she also predict that you would be rescued by your 'destined true love' or something?"

Diora gawked at her gamine-haired friend, her jaw dropping incredulously. "How—HOW— do you even interpret that from what that disturbing hag said?!"

"Fine, then what was it she said again?"

Diora set the pillow aside and adjusted herself, straightening her back and sitting tall. She cleared her throat before answering, "She said, _'Fate will lead you to one who is destined to stand vigilant in the shadows. As he shall be your savior, so shall you be his.'"_

"Sounds romantic."

"There's nothing remotely romantic about someone lurking in the shadows!"

"Think about it. What if it means that your dream prince will sweep you off your feet? Can I be the maid of honor at the royal wedding? Will you set me up with his hot brother if he's got one?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Aeries. We all know those _only_ exist in fairy tales. Besides, the way this week has gone, it probably means I'm going to be kidnapped by some creepy, old bald guy."

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

That night, Diora restlessly tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. Outside her window, the moon was a thin, crescent sliver and high up in the sky. Even so, what was visible of the celestial orb was still bright and beautiful tonight, enough to drop silver moonrays through the sheer lace curtains and illuminate her room in airy glow.

She sat up and glanced over at her alarm clock. It was a little past 1 o'clock in the morning. Her gaze shifted over to the tall, antique floor mirror standing on its easel across her room. She could see the reflection of the moon, its luminous glow dancing off the blossoms of the cherry tree outside her window. Something about the mirror seemed to be calling out to her. Watching her.

"Your reflection is cast in the mirror of illusion, darkness, and blood," she whispered, a chill running down her spine as she repeated the fortune teller's words.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Somewhere, across the universe of space and time, Uldred gazed into the Eluvian mirror and observed the world that existed even beyond The Fade. It was through great difficulty that he had been able to acquire such a treasure and conceal it from the other mages and the templars. Though he had not yet completely mastered it, the Eluvian had allowed him to delve even more deeply into study of the dark arts and blood magic. Imshael, an Ancient One from the Fade with whom Uldred communed, had revealed to him this world free of chains and magical subjugation.

A world in which he could be a god.

Who could have thought that a world full of such wonders could be real? Even amongst the most devout mages in The Circle Tower, the whispered rumors of such a world existed. But that was all it had been—rumors.

Until now.

Ah, yes. And there she was: the key to his rise to ultimate power.

Her image rippled on the surface of the mirror as he caressed her slim, graceful neck. He imagined that the vulnerable, naked flesh there would feel as silky and warm as petals bathing under the gentle rays of the spring sun. He could almost feel her pulse, gently beating there, under the delicate curve of her jaw line. His eyes narrowed and turned cold as he envisioned himself ruthlessly ripping into that creamy column with his dagger.

Her blood: the Eluvian had revealed that it was the final ingredient he needed to achieve his dark curse and open up a portal large enough for him and his followers to enter into her world. As the hot, red blood flowed freshly out of her dying body, his dream would be born to life.

Uldred watched silently as the girl in the vision stared back at him. It almost a shame, that such a beautiful, innocent creature should be sacrificed to fulfill his dark desires.

Almost.

"Soon, my little one, soon," he promised himself. Whispering into the girl's reflection, his black eyes met her blue-grey ones, "On the dawn after a moonless night, when the Golden Star in the eastern morning sky meets the Eye of the Red Dragon constellation."

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Diora woke up the next morning to the smell of a glorious feast awaiting her at the table when she came down for breakfast. All of her favorite breakfast foods: coffee éclairs, bourbon raisin bread, raspberry jam, crepes with Nutella spread, eggs benedict, honey smoked bacon (extra crispy), and an assortment of delectable fresh berries.

"What's all this?" a sleepy-eyed Diora mumbled. She felt like she had just stepped into the Twilight Zone.

Diora's mother beamed as she silently handed Diora a big, white envelope.

Diora's eyes grew large and wide when she saw the embossed yellow, blue, and white insignia stamped on the envelope. She was acutely aware of a light buzzing in her ears, and a series of tingles shooting from the tips of her fingers and zinging through every cell in her body. She wanted nothing more than to just tear into the package and pour over it's contents. Instead, beneath her mom, dad, and younger brother's expectant glances, she took a deep breath and calmly unsealed envelope. It wasn't until after she completely finished reading the letter twice that she finally did what she really wanted to do.

"Ohmigod! OHMIGOD! I'M GOING TO YALE!" Diora squealed, hugging the letter to her chest. She felt like a child on Christmas morning! Getting rejected by Harvard was a long-forgotten, distant memory in the wake of her acceptance into Yale. After all, Ivy League was still Ivy League.

"We're so proud of you and the hard work you put into getting there. We know Harvard was your first choice, but Yale is still an accomplishment," her father added.

Her sixteen-year-old brother Teddy grabbed a slice of the bourbon raisin bread, and in between bites, asked her, "Does this mean you're finally going to stop being a bi-"

"Teddy!" Mother reprimanded him sharply, cutting him off before he could finish the sentence.

"What?! It's the truth!" Teddy argued back.

Diora smirked at her little brat of a brother. She knew he was teasing her, if crudely. She wasn't going to let him, or anyone, or anything ruin this day for her. She made a conscious decision right then and there to forget all about blood, darkness, curses, and death. This was proof that her streak of bad luck was over! And she couldn't wait to share her marvelous news with Aeries!

"Mom, I have to call Aeries and tell her about this!" Diora

Her mom laughed, pleased that Diora seemed to be in better spirits. "Make it quick. You don't want breakfast to get cold. And you don't want to be late for school. I assume you will make it to class today?"

Diora nodded at her mom. Humming to herself, she hopped up the stairs and made her way into her bedroom. With thoughts of sugar and spice and all things nice on her mind, Diora skipped across the bedroom to where her cell phone was charging on her desk.

And abruptly skid to a halt.

_'That's funny,'_ Diora thought to herself.

For a split second, from the corner of her eye…! She swore she saw a misty grey fog in her bedroom mirror, swirling and distorting her reflection. Diora studied it, silently willing the mirror to do it again. She stared at it until her eyes started to hurt from the strain of unblinking.

When nothing else happened, she shook her head. Maybe she _had _imagined it. Anyways, she had a phone call to make, some good news to share, and a delicious breakfast to eat!

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

That evening, Diora stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself up in a thick towel that had been warming up in the towel warmer. She smiled blissfully to herself as she dried her hair.

Today had been a glorious day.

An acceptance letter from Yale. An A+ on the pop quiz in calculus. Not a single near-death experience… It seemed like life was finally going to get back to normal after a week of terrible, horrible, very bad, no good days.

_And_ Diora still had the weekend to look forward to. Aeries and a group of Diora's friends had decided that in honor of Diora's acceptance into Yale, a celebration was in order. One perfect weekend of levity, including a _Gossip Girls_ marathon, salted caramel cheesecake, and some fun-in-the-sun at Aeries's parents' cabin on the shores of Aster Lake.

Diora's hand squeaked across the foggy mirror as she belted out Katrina and the Waves' _Walkin' on Sunshine._

"_I'm walkin' on sunshiiiiine...whoa oh! I'm walkin' on sunshiiiiine...whoa oh! And don't it feel good! Hey! Bum bum, doop doop di doop, di doop-!"_

The song caught in the back of her throat as her reflection suddenly rippled and blurred! Diora gasped as a bright white light gashed across the glass surface beneath her fingers. A disembodied hand reached out of the portal and snatched tightly around her wrist in a painful grasp!

_What the hell?! It was trying to pull her into the mirror!_

A strangled cry escaped from her lips. Toiletries neatly arranged on the bathroom counter scattered all across the floor. Her wet feet squeaked across the bathroom tiles as they fought to brace her body against the unknown entity in the mirror.

"NO! LET—ME—GO!" she screamed. She grit her teeth and resisted with all her might, but it was no use. The hand was too strong!

She was up to her shoulder in the mirror now. She felt her strength waning, her resolve weakening…. She closed her eyes and prepared for the worst-!

"Sissy, what's wrong?!" Teddy shouted as he burst through the bathroom door. His cheeks suddenly flushed several shades of crimson red.

"Eh?!" Diora's eyes blinked opened. She was suddenly very aware of the right side of her face pressed hard against the still pulsating glass and the cold air brushing up against her naked flesh. She looked down and saw the thick terry towel in a pool around her ankles.

"AGH! YOU LITTLE PERVERT!" her scream reverberated throughout the house.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

So shaken was she by the sheer horror of that unfathomable experience, that Diora could not bring herself to tell her parents or Teddy the truth about what happened. Instead, she had made up a half-assed tale about slipping in the bathroom. She hated lying to them, but… it… it was just crazy! Who would believe that a disembodied hand could appear out of the bathroom mirror and try to kidnap someone? Even she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around it.

She was sitting up in her bed, her arms curled around her knees. Maybe she had somehow dreamt it all. Perhaps the heat and steam of the hot shower gotten to her. Or worse, she going mad? Had her mind was finally crumbled under the stress of the past week and the pressures of school?

'_What if the fortune teller was right, and you are really cursed_?' a shadow of a doubt nagged at her.

"Oh, God…! What a mind fuck!" she whispered to herself.

When Diora finally fell into a restless sleep that night, it was with a large blanket covering the vintage, easel-backed mirror in her bedroom. Regardless of what was rational and irrational, it gave her a small measure of comfort to know that the blanket was there as a shield to protect her from something that could or could not exist in the mirror.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Even in the land of dreams, Diora's fears and doubts haunted her.

_Diora was falling into the sky._

_Falling, falling, falling, with a trail of stardust behind her._

_Falling, falling, falling. into the blue veil of the night._

_A gentle gale billowed up beneath her, rocking her to and fro in its lullaby. It enveloped her in a celestial current of melody. In that ethereal summer storm of songs she danced._

_Round and round and round in the singing gale Diora danced. Until she stepped into in a forest glen, a circle of trees crowned with leaves of gold. Beneath the breathless moon, in the circle of trees, a silver glass lake beckoned to to her._

_Among the fairy flowers and glittering toadstools she gingerly stepped, until she reached the banks of the silvery waters. How still and quiet was her reflection as she gazed into it. She dipped a hand into it and sent sparkling trails rippling into the waters. _

_The ripples spread across the lake. The ground started to tremor. They sky was suddenly empty of moon and stars. The once silver waters began to bubble and turn black._

_And suddenly, there were bloody hands. Countless, bloody, disembodied hands. Reaching for her. Clawing at her. Pulling her into the water. _

_Diora screamed._

_She was drowning. _

_Drowning in the glass lake._

_Darkness closed in upon her._

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

When she woke up the next morning, Diora was every bit as refreshed and well-rested as the 'real' princess from the _The Princess and the Pea._ Which meant she felt as though she had spent the entire night sleeping with a giant bowling ball underneath her mattress. Unfortunately, unlike the princess in the fairytale, it didn't mean that she got to marry a handsome prince and live happily ever after.

Finding said handsome prince was the least of Diora's worries right now. Although she was suddenly very concerned about her happily ever after.

"Maybe you imagined all of it," she told herself that morning.

She could not avoid the bathroom forever. Her friends would be here soon, and Diora needed to get ready and pack up her toiletries. So it was with great trepidation that she wandered into the upstairs bathroom that morning to do her usual business. Then while brushing her teeth, she swore her reflection in the mirror had once again blurred and swirled. She zipped out of there so fast that she accidentally swallowed her toothpaste.

So she was not going mad after all.

The way her bedroom mirror had flickered yesterday morning. The incidents in the bathroom yesterday evening and then again this morning. Some sinister force was trying to get to her through the mirrors. She was now sure of it.

Which led Diora to a baffling dilemma.

'_How am I going to live the rest of my life without looking into a mirror?'_ she thought as she packed her belongings for the weekend trip at Aster Lake. Her duffle bag was refusing to cooperate with her.

Mom called out from the base of the stairs. "Hurry up! The girls are here!"

"Alright, Mom! Be down in a minute!" Diora shouted. She grit her teeth and struggled to zip up her luggage. "Why-won't-you-zip?! UGH!" With a groan of frustration, she took out the extra pair of sneakers she had tried to squeeze in at the last minute and tossed them over her shoulder.

The sneakers landed with a dull thud against her covered-up mirror before plopping down on the floor in front of it.

Diora zipped up her duffle bag and strapped it around her shoulders.

She never heard the rustling of the comforter as it slid slowly off the mirror…

Didn't see the bright white light ripping across the swirly, undulating glass surface…

Couldn't even scream out as one hand reached out and closed up over her lips and the other wrapped itself around her waist, whisking her away from the only world she had ever known.

* * *

_**AN**: Poor Diora. Have you ever been hit with a string of rotten luck? And what's up with that creepy fortune? I had a heck of a time trying to come up with one that sounded ominous but not tacky. And I'll give you one guess of who Diora's mysterious "savior" will be hint: starts with an 'A'._

**_Next Chapter:_**_ Alistair! Will it be love at first sight?_


	3. The Savior

**_**Recap:** On Diora's 18th birthday, an old fortune teller foresees blood and darkness in Diora's future. After a series of unfortunate events, Diora is getting ready to join her friend Aeries for weekend at the lake when a pair of disembodied hands rip out of her bedroom mirror, and Diora is whisked away towards her destiny - and ALISTAIR! (be still, my heart!) {Grr...! That lucky girl!}_**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**The Savior**

Alistair, dressed in his newly crafted Grey Warden-heraldry-emblazoned suit of armor, held his head up high as he and Duncan walked out of Wade's Emporium in Denerim's Market District. Just a mere three weeks ago, he had been hopelessly resigned to live out his life as a templar, a fate which he had often considered worse than death. That was before the tourney the Chantry had held in honor of Warden-Commander Duncan's visit. The day of the tourney had marked a defining moment in Alistair's life. It was the day Duncan had recruited him into the Grey Wardens. Even then, the Grand Cleric had been reluctant to give him up, and Duncan had been forced to use the Right of Conscription.

It had been the happiest day of Alistair's life.

He was no longer Alistair, the bastard child whose existence had been a burden and a potential threat to the country. He was now Alistair, a proud Grey Warden, upon whose shoulders the fate of Ferelden rested with the looming Blight.

"Alistair…Alistair…!"

Duncan's voice snapped Alistair from his reverie. Alistair blinked a few times and turned to face his mentor and leader. "Oh-yes! Yes, Duncan," he replied, clearing his throat. His embarrassment was apparent despite his best attempts to now appear attentive.

Duncan chuckled at the newest and youngest member to join the brotherhood. How young he was! And still naive, in his own way. Despite the fact that Alistair had been bested thrice in the tourney, Duncan had admired Alistair's character most above all of the templars present. He also had his own personal reasons for recruiting the boy, but what mattered most was that this young man had a good, loyal, and courageous heart — qualities that were just as important as a strong sword arm when it came to being a Grey Warden.

Duncan continued, "I have business with King Cailan at the palace. If you'd like, you may remain here in the Market District for the time being. You may meet up with me and the others at the Wardens' heaquarters in Denerim later this evening if you wish."

Alistair paused, pondering Duncan's suggestion. "It _would_ be nice to stay here and walk around a bit. Yes, actually, I was thinking of visiting The Wonders of Thedas. Arl Eamon took me there the last time he brought me here as a child, and he bought me a miniature golem doll…"

Duncan laughed and nodded. "It's settled, then. I will meet you at the inn later tonight."

Alistair watched Duncan head towards the gates and couldn't help feeling an overwhelming, surreal sense of gratefulness sweep over him. Duncan had saved his life. Alistair would never forget that. And he would always thankful. Duncan disappeared into the bustling crowd of the marketplace. Alistair, humming to himself and half admiring his new Grey Warden shield, turned and made his way towards The Wonders of Thedas.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

"I've got you this time, girl," a voice as cold as ice echoed from the mirror.

_'OMIGOD! This is really happening! I'm being dragged in!'_ Diora thought as the blinding white light enveloped her.

The hands dragged her through a swirling abyss of violet, black, and grey. The roaring sound of waves crashing in the darkness filled her ears. Her body felt like it was being crushed in a room of thick, poisonous gas. Her muffled screams were to no avail, and she fought against will to free herself from the arms that tightened like a noose around her body.

Slowly, in the distance, a white doorway appeared in the darkness. Its light was cold and harsh. She was being pulled towards that door! Something in her heart warned her that she must not go through that door! The closer she got to it, the more Diora became aware that her body no longer felt as though it were being squeezed through a wormhole. The air felt lighter, and she breathed easier. This gave her a renewed strength. Realizing this might be her only chance to escape, she started bucking and screaming, pounding and clawing at the arms wrapped around her.

And then, she was suddenly free!

Diora swam away as quickly as she could from the hands, which were now violently grasping at her feet. "No, let me go!" she cried out, kicking wildly at them. She looked up and saw another light glowing above her. It was more of a small window rather than a doorway, its yellow rays softer and warmer than those of the doorway.

Hope surged in her heart. She grit her teeth and swam in a final, desperate lunge towards the light.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

"NNNOOOO!" Uldred screamed into the Eluvian as his prey disappeared from sight. He bit his lips in anger, ignoring the sharp pain and the metallic taste of blood.

He had been so close! Just a few more seconds, and he would have had her before him in flesh and blood. He cursed himself for having let his guard down, for being fooled by his confidence into believing he had her in his clutches. He hadn't expected her to be so strong or put up such a fight.

"No matter," he tried to console himself. "I've surely pulled her into Thedas. The Eluvian will guide me to where she emerges."

Uldred looked down at his bloody hands and clenched them into fists as he cast a healing spell on them. For now, he could only watch her from the Eluvian. He would need time to recuperate before attempting another spell to draw the girl to him. The summoning spell's requirement of blood had taken a considerable toll on his constitution. Even his blood, he knew, had not been enough to draw her from her own world to Thedas. The only reason the summoning spell had worked was because _she_ was the one who had been called upon. It was the sacred and unknown power of the blood flowing in _her_ veins that had made the summoning possible.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Diora gasped for air as she broke through the light. She landed on an unforgiving, cold surface and winced in pain. Something dull and heavy hit her in between the shoulders, knocking the breath out of her. She turned to look, and even in her shocked, dazed state she could see that the thing which had hit her was…her duffle bag?

A sudden, piercing scream and a flurry of footsteps and commotion drew Diora's attention to her new surroundings. Diora's blue-grey eyes blinked a few times and widened in shock. _'Where…?! Where am I?!'_ she thought alarmingly. She quickly assessed that she was in a dusty, exotic antique store of sorts….

And everyone was dressed in what appeared to be medieval clothing! And they were all cowering around her, staring back at her with horrified expressions on their faces. She grew faint as a crushing sensation tightened around her chest.

"Maker, help us! She came out of the mirror!" shouted a young man garbed in flowing robes.

"Momma, what is it?!" cried a little boy, hiding behind his mother's skirts.

"A demon! Andraste's mercy! A demon girl came out of that mirror!" exclaimed an older woman, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"Help! Where are the templars! Call for the templars!" a lady who was dressed in a fine gown started screaming.

_'Wait? Are they calling _me _a demon?! Omigod—OMIGOD! I have to get out of here!'_ Despite feeling like she had been chewed up and then spit back out, Diora somehow managed to get to her feet. She snatched her duffle bag off the floor. She dashed for the door at the front of the store, sending a stone bust on a pedestal crashing to the floor and knocking over a stand of books along the way.

The crowd screamed and quickly parted a way for her. No one dared to touch this demon girl that had appeared from that old, rusty mirror in the back of the store. One minute, the whole store had been blinded in a bright, golden light. The next thing everyone knew, this abomination had emerged through the glass surface!

"Okay, this definitely isn't my bedroom! What is this place?!" Diora asked herself, flinging the door wide open and running into the bustling alley. She noticed the curious stares and pointing fingers of those she passed on the cobblestone street.

She skid to a halt at the end of the alley.

Her jaw dropped when she saw the lively market square in front of her. In a trance-like state, Diora slowly turned around in a complete circle to take in the scene before her. It looked like the Renaissance Festival that she went to every year, only a hundred times grander in scale! Had she somehow been transported back in time?!

Bright red and gold flags swayed gently from the tall stone ramparts in the square. A throng of people all came together in a spectacular awakening of a busy hive. Unfolding to greet the glorious morning, windows flung open as shopkeepers almost simultaneously opened up their linear array of shops, exposing the colorful interiors and filling the streets with the exuberance of life. Children laughing and playing in the square… Cats chasing after one another... In the middle of the square, textile merchants were showing off their fabrics to the ladies… The fresh aroma of a baker's sweet, buttery perfume filled her senses…

"WHERE THE HELL AM I?! I'm dreaming! This has to be a dream!" She shook her head and closed her eyes. "When I open my eyes, I'll be back in my bedroom…! Everything will be back to normal."

"There she is! The demon girl who appeared at The Wonders of Thedas!"

"Halt, in the name of the Maker!"

Diora's eyes popped open, and she shrieked as the armed guards ran towards her. They carried shields emblazoned with a fiery sun, and their swords gleamed coldly in the morning light.

"HURRY UP AND WAKE UP!" she screamed to herself in sheer panic. She pinched herself on the arm. Hard. When that didn't work, she slapped herself a couple of times. The throbbing welt on her forearm and her stinging cheeks indicated that-

A cold, clammy sense of dread dropped on her like a ton of bricks.

_THIS. WAS. NO. DREAM._

_This was real. So very, VERY real._

She had somehow inexplicably been transported through time and landed in the Middle Ages.

And those templars…! They were coming for her!

She stifled a cry. She was left with no other choice than to run as fast as she could away from the soldiers. Fighting back tears and holding tightly onto her duffle bag, which she had strapped across her shoulders as though it were a shield, she desperately pushed her way into the crowd.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Alistair heard the commotion in the square as he made his way over to The Wonders of Thedas. "What could be going on, I wonder?" he pondered quietly. From the frantic cries of the townsfolk, he made out the words "help" and "demon." He instinctively reached for his sword when a young woman squeezed through the group of people in front of him and ran smack dab right into him, nearly knocking him over!

Before Diora could cry out, a pair of strong hands swiftly reached out around her arms and steadied her. "No! Let me go! I'm not a demon, please!" she pleaded, struggling to free herself from the stranger's grasp. Fearing that she had been captured, she looked up, lips trembling. The stinging tears she had been holding back burned a pair of hot trails down her cheeks.

Alistair's breath caught in his throat. He felt his scalp crinkle, and an odd sensation, like he had seen that face before in a dream or a past lifetime prickled in his stomach.

A young woman - and quite a pretty one. Her dark hair, which had been tied back in a bun, came undone when she bumped into him and now spilled gloriously down her back. He gasped when his eyes gazed down into hers. They were like the color of Lake Calenhad on a stormy day. She was of petite stature, not even reaching his shoulders. He easily could have mistook her for a child, but for the soft curves underneath her shift-

'_Wait - her shift? ANDRASTE'S FLAMING SWORD! Why is she running about the marketplace half naked, in nothing but her shift?!'_ he screamed mentally.

"You there, halt!" the senior templar ordered through the throng of folks, interrupting Alistair's thoughts.

Alistair looked over the heads of the crowd and saw a pair of templars quickly making their way towards them. Searching for the girl, no doubt. His eyes hardened in resolve. Though he could not explain why, he knew he had to protect her. There would be time for questions later. Right now, he needed to help her get away from them.

Diora gasped as the young man tugged her arm. She stumbled behind him into a different alleyway. He brought a gloved finger up to her tremulous lips, motioning for her to be quiet. He quickly scanned the area before leading her to the end of the alley. They squeezed in together in a cramped space between two buildings and crouched low behind some wooden crates and barrels of apples. He whipped the canvas off an empty cart next to them and pulled it over them, using it and his body to conceal her from view just before the soldiers ran into the alley.

"I think she ran over there!"

"Quickly, don't lose her!"

Diora tightly closed her eyes and held her breath, silently willing the soldiers away. '_God, please! Please don't let them find me!'_ she silently prayed fervently.

'_Why are they after her?' _Alistair wondered. He felt her tremble against him, probably because the templars were literally five feet from them. He had one arm braced up against the stone building next to them, holding up the canvas over them; the other rested on her shoulder. How small and fragile she seemed against his frame. As softly as he could, he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"She's not here!"

"Let's check the square again."

Diora shifted to rise from her hiding place. A gentle tug on her shoulder knocked her back down against a hard chest of metal plate.

"Not just yet," Alistair whispered, stopping her from rising. "They might come back."

'_Oh, yeah! I was so worried about those guys, I forgot about him!' _Diora's head snapped up and she turned back to lock eyes with her rescuer.

Her heart skipped a beat.

In her previous state of sheer panic and haste to escape the soldiers, she completely missed how incredibly handsome this guy was!

Time seemed to have stilled.

But now... here... in that little cramped space in between two buildings, amidst the apple barrels and beneath an oiled tarp... Diora felt like she had fallen into a dream that she quickly did not want to awaken from.

In the soft semi-translucent light seeping through the thin leather canvas, she could clearly make out her rescuer's face. He had strong, chiseled features and a very straight nose. His forehead was wide, with thick brows. His honey colored blond hair was cut short, but stuck up rather untidily in the front - she wondered if that was done on purpose? A day's worth of dark golden stubble shaded his jawline. Friendly light brown eyes stared back at her. A dizzying sense of wonder filled her, and the dawning realization that she very much enjoyed how the fine lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled at her left her breathless.

For as long as she lived, whenever she smelled the scent of apples and oiled leather, it would forever remind her of this very moment.

Then the spell was broken.

She was just about to return his smile when she suddenly remembered where they were and why they were there. She became incredibly conscious of how very close she was to him, nestled in his armored chest. She could feel the strength in his body. His steady, warm breath tickled the small of her neck. His left hand gently held her left shoulder, the gloved fingers lightly grazing the delicate skin past her collarbone. He stirred something deep within her, sending a tingle coursing throughout her body.

What was wrong with her?! Since when did being around some guy cause her to not think straight?! And she needed to think, especially now! She needed to find a way out of this Middle Ages time warp and get back home. There were tons of cute guys at home, at school, and even then it wasn't like she went all dreamy-eyed around them.

Feeling a flush rising to her cheeks, she bashfully turned away from him. '_Pull yourself together, Diora! Reality check! It's just some boy! It's not like you've never seen a boy before!'_ she mentally chastised herself, shifting uncomfortably in place.

Alistair, sensing a change in her mood, cleared his throat and glanced up over the crates. "I think it's safe to come out now."

Diora carefully tiptoed out of their hiding place. It was all clear. With a giant sigh of relief, she collapsed into a heap in the middle of the alley.

Alistair knelt down next to the girl and inadvertently brushed his arm against her own. "Who are you? Why are the templars after you?"

"St-stay away, you!" Diora scrambled up, grabbed a couple of apples from one of the barrels and chucked one at him. It bounced off his armor with a loud metallic thunk and landed on the dirt with a dull thud before rolling away. She held the other apple up in the air threateningly. Now that they were back out in the open, whatever closeness she had felt for him earlier dissipated, and she was on her guard again.

Alistair immediately took a step back and waved his hands up in front of himself in mock self-defense. "Hhhheyyyyy! I just got this suit of armor this morning, you know! It's brand new!"

This immediately threw Diora off guard. Out of all the possible reactions, she hadn't expected him to crack a joke. She raised her brows and blinked wide, bewildered eyes back at him.

Alistair picked up an apple and took a bite. It was crisp and the perfect blend of sweet and tart. "Umm... delicious! Would you like one? They're quite good."

Diora was at a loss for words. She shook her head, that same, bewildered look from before on her face.

"And as much as I enjoy eating apples myself, I'm not terribly keen on death by apple throwing." Alistair continued good-naturedly, amused laughter in his voice.

Diora relaxed her throwing arm, but still remained on guard. "J-just stay away!"

Alistair brushed an imaginary bit of apple splatter off his armor and, noticing that she had relaxed a little, introduced himself to her, "Now, there's no need to worry. I promise, I won't hurt you. I'm Alistair. What's your name?"

Diora studied this 'Alistair' warily, taking in the rest of the details. Like those who had been chasing her, he, too, wore a suit of metal armor. He carried a shield with an emblem of a white and blue winged creature and had a sword strapped on his back. He was tall, at least 6 feet, but at her meager 5 foot height, everyone was taller than her. Judging from his powerful, muscular frame, he was definitely not 'just some boy' as she had categorized him earlier. '_A soldier? Maybe, but more like a knight,'_ she thought to herself. While she still agreed with her previous assessment that yes, he was indeed a very handsome man, did he have to have such a sexy British accent, too? With a voice like his, he could read her Harvard rejection letter aloud and still be make her swoon…

'_I can't believe that out of the entire 18 years of your life to finally notice a guy, you choose NOW? REALLY?!'_ a little voice inside her head called common sense reprimanded her.

"I'm Diora. Diora Starr!" she answered his questions, sounding more hostile than she intended.

While Diora had been assessing this Alistair, she had no idea how _she _must look to him. What a vision she was, with her long dark hair wild and loose about her and her blue-grey eyes thoughtfully considering him. Her creamy complexion was flushed and her dusky lips parted with breath, probably from all the exertion of running earlier. Her deeply heaving chest-

"_Maker's breath!_" a furious whisper escaped Alistair's lips and interrupted Diora's thoughts.

"Wh-what?! HEY! Wait! NO! What are you-!" Diora sputtered out, alarmed. The worst had come to mind, and she thought maybe those 'templars' had returned. To her confusion, Alistair instead whisked the canvas from earlier off the ground and briskly wrapped it around her shoulders.

"And _why_ in the Maker's name are you dressed in nothing but a blazing _shift_?!" he demanded in a heated tone of voice, perhaps a tad harsher than he'd meant it to sound. The truth of the matter was that some rather inappropriate thoughts had spontaneously popped into his mind. The gentleman in Alistair was utterly ashamed of himself, while ogler in him was horrified that she might somehow guess where his thoughts had been leading.

"A blazing…?" Diora furrowed her brows and shook her head in puzzlement. '_What is he talking about?'_ she asked herself. She looked down and examined her clothing, and then glanced back up at Alistair, who made a great show of averting his eyes from her. And he was blushing! He was actually blushing!

Then it dawned on her.

She was wearing a white, spaghetti strap, eyelet lace sundress that fell just a couple of inches above her knees. She had been getting ready to go to the lake, and wanted to wear something springy and summery. In the modern world, this was considered quite modest and fresh and youthful, but here...it was considered underwear! She burst out laughing.

Alistair stared at Diora. Had she gone mad?

Slowly, of their own volition, Diora's hands began trembling uncontrollably. Her shoulders began shaking, and her legs suddenly felt like jello underneath her. Tears glistened over her eyes and blurred her vision.

She started to cry.

For Alistair, this was the _worst_ possible thing that could happen.

'_Oh, no...' _Alistair thought, feeling like the lowest piece of scum ever to walk Thedas. '_I - I - I made her cry!'_

He was completely out of his element. And absolutely paralyzed. Never, in his entire life, in all his years of training at the monastery or during his short time with the Grey Wardens, had anyone ever told him what to do when a girl, especially a _pretty girl_, started crying. What in the bloody Fade was he supposed to do?

Diora's shoulders were now wrecked with full sobs. She buried her face into her hands. She realized her whole world has just turned upside down. She was lost and alone. The people here thought she was a demon and wanted to kill her!

And she was scared.

Every fiber in Alistair's being wanted to do nothing more than wrap her in his arms, but he didn't even know her! Sure, he had held her close just a minute ago, but this was different! Then, they had been forced to hide in tight quarters. He didn't want to make matters worse by offending her. But then again, he could not just stand by while she cried, could he?

Finally, Alistair knelt down next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. His hand felt large and clumsy on her delicate frame. He gulped. "Don't...cry," he said awkwardly, giving her shoulder a tiny squeeze.

He was caught off guard when, with an unexpected burst of strength, she forcefully pushed him away from her. It was enough to make him lose his balance and fall several steps back, right into a barrel of apples, strewing about the luscious red fruit while she reached for her pack and dashed towards the square.

"Hey! Wait!" he shouted, scrambling up. He ran as fast as he could, his metal boots ringing against the dusty road. His eyes scanned the crowds, and he caught a quick glimpse of her just up ahead. He was almost caught up to her when a merchant's wagon suddenly rolled out in front of him, blocking her from his view.

By the time he ran around it, she was gone.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

_'I'm sorry, Alistair...! You were so kind, but I can't... I just couldn't-!'_

Diora meandered through the throng of shoppers and merchants, the canvas snugly wrapped around herself. She had wanted more than anything, in that brief moment of weakness, to tell him everything that had happened to her. But what good would that have done? What would he think if she told him that she came from the future? Just this very morning, through a mirror? He might think she was crazy, or worse… He might think she was a demon, just like those people in the antique store. For some strange reason, a part of her could not bear the thought of this Alistair turning against her.

And then a thought popped into her mind.

It was ridiculous, she knew, but she was desperate, and it was worth a shot. She reached into the side pocket of her duffle bag and pulled out her Samsung Galaxy smartphone. The brief flicker of hope that lit up her eyes extinguished when she saw the notification bar.

No. Freaking. Signal.

_'Well, __**that**_ _was a brilliant idea, Diora! You're stuck in the Middle Ages! Cell phone towers are centuries away from being invented, dummy!'_ Diora breathed in a deep, heaving sigh and firmly resolved that she would absolutely not start crying again. She glanced around her surroundings, feeling more forlorn than ever.

"Damn it! What I wouldn't do for a Good Witch of the South and a pair of magical ruby slippers," she bitterly complained to herself.

That was when she caught her reflection in a mirror hanging up one of the market's jewelry stands.

The mirror!

No, not the mirror in the jewelry stall, but _THE MIRROR_ \- the one back in the antique shop! If she had come through it, maybe it could take her back home! Sort of like the looking glass in the Adventures of Alice in Wonderland!

As preposterous and impossible and illogical as the idea sounded to her - _'Seriously-using a mirror as a time machine?' - _the impossible had already happened! A pair of disembodied hands had indeed kidnapped her and brought her here back in time through a mirror. What else was there that she couldn't possibly believe to exist or be true or probable? Yes! Given everything she'd just been through, this was a feasible plan. She was not going mad.

"You, there! Watch where you're going! If you're not going to purchase anything, move along!" an angry sounding voice berated her.

It shouldn't have been possible, especially after what she just experience, but Diora felt like her world had just come crashing down. Again. She stared slack-jawed, but not at the human merchant who had just yelled at her.

She stared at the _ELF_ standing next to him behind the stall.

It couldn't be! Elves were creatures of magical lore. Several different expressions crossed Diora's face as she came to grips with this realization. Yes. Those were very and decidedly pointy ears. She blinked and took another look around the square, and she felt another anxiety attack coming on.

In addition to the humans and pointy-eared elves bustling around in the marketplace, she also saw a number of short, stocky individuals conducting their business in the square.

_DWARVES._

What was next, talking animals and dragons? As if somehow being transported back in time were not bad enough… She wasn't even on Earth anymore! Where… _THE FUCK_… was she?!

"What are you staring at, girl?" The merchant narrowed his eyes at her.

'_Breathe. Just breathe. And don't even think about-!'_ Diora knew she shouldn't, but she simply had to know. She pointed at the elf. "Your ears… are they real? Are you... an elf?"

Judging from the look of loathing the elf gave her, Diora took it as a yes. She gulped and slowly took a step back.

The merchant didn't take kindly to this odd girl. He noticed the makeshift cloak and the pack tucked underneath her arm. "What are you hiding there? Are you a thief?! C'mere! We do not abide thieves in the marketplace! Guards!"

"NO!" shrieked Diora as he reached for her. The tarp fluttered into the air as Diora lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. "Ouch...!" she moaned, rubbing her side.

"Eek! Isn't that the girl who came out of the mirror!"

"Over there! It's her!"

"Catch her!"

"NOOOOO! Please!" sobbed Diora as a pair of templars caught her and painfully gripped her arms.

"It's off to Aeonar with you! Attempt to do anything, and we will not hesitate to cut you down!" one of the templars threatened her as they dragged her away.

_'MOM! DAD! OH, GOD! PLEASE SAVE ME!'_

* * *

_**AN:** Apples remind Diora of Alistair. Is there a food that reminds you of a special someone? For me, french fries, specifically McDonald's french fries always remind me of my husband, because that's where we went out on our first date back on December 15, 2002. Funny, because my husband's got dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. Wouldn't it make more sense if he was blond?_

_Dear readers, what did you think? Reviews are always nice._

**_Up next: _**_Sorry, no Alistair in the next chapter. Diora meets Uldred in a terrifying encounter._


	4. A Waking Nightmare

_**AN:**_ Hi, everyone! Thanks for dropping in, and a special thank you to those who have taken the time to fave/follow/review BtRoR: A Girl in Ferelden: SleepiPanda, Xaiael, writingNoob, Lady Zendra, cmdrShephard24, whrrtrudy, eris1234, ineslapin, Edward Cullen's Girl, and Hello-Nanabanana! *hugs*

**_RECAP:_**_ Poor Diora. After surfacing from a mirror into The Wonders of Thedas in Denerim's marketplace, the townsfolk accuse her of being some kind of a demon! The templars are right on her tail when she bumps into Alistair, who helps her hide from her pursuers. The two share a brief, but very sweet moment, before Diora has a panic attack and runs away from him, only to be captured by the templars!_

_Sorry, no Alistair in Chapter 3, but he comes back in Chapter 4, I swear! Nothing like absence to make the heart grow fonder, right?_

_ALSO, this is a dark chapter, especially for Diora, but it's important to the main plot of the story. And Dragon Age is not all flowers and sunshine, it's a also a cold and dangerous world._

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**A Waking Nightmare**

Growing up, Diora had always considered herself the inhabitant of two worlds. One was the real world, where she lived with her family and friends. The other was the world of books, especially ones that sang of epic adventures and romance set in worlds of fantasy. Diora had flown on the back of a dragon with the Dragonriders of Pern and studied in the halls of Hogwarts with Harry, Ron, and Hermoine. She had lamented with Gilgamesh when the gods sentenced Enkidu to death and sailed on a treacherous voyage to the ends of the earth with Odysseus's crew. Diora had stepped into the land beyond the looking glass with Alice and made the harrowing journey with Frodo into the heart of Mordor on a quest to destroy the One Ring.

Yet in her wildest imaginings, she never once truly expected to be the main character in her own, brutally real, fucked up adventures of _a girl from the modern world trapped in a place somewhere in between Wonderland and Middle Earth_. And unlike the long, narrative stories she so loved escaping into, judging from what she overheard the templars saying to each other, her adventures were going to be nowhere near _epic_.

Epic entailed a long narration. Her own case didn't even fall into the novella category.

The templars were taking her to a prison called Aeonar.

Once they reached Aeonar, they would execute her.

A short story.

Truthfully, Diora much rather preferred a quick death to rotting away and going mad in some dungeon in a strange land far from home. Still, that thought did not hold the fears of pain and death at bay. She hoped they wouldn't torture her before they killed her, that death would be swift.

She spent the first few hours crying and resigning herself to her fate. Diora endured a punishing day riding in a rickety prison wagon, with the constant creaking of ungreased wheels grating against her ears. Her cheeks were grimy from road dust and stained with streaks from her tears. She had absent mindedly chewed her nails down to ugly little stubs.

A foul countryside stench akin to that of garbage and wet dogs sank her already drooping spirits. An evening cold was slowly creeping in, chilling her to the bones. Her body ached everywhere, and she longed for nothing more than to be back home, for the heat of a hot bath to warm her up and soothe her sore muscles. Hunger clawed at her stomach, and her mouth watered yearningly for the apples from the marketplace.

Thinking about the apples brought on a wave of heartache and regret.

That young man from the marketplace. Alistair. Diora could not stop thinking about him and wondered if she would be better off now if she had decided to stay with him. Of course she would be better off! His eyes had looked upon her with such kindness. Why had she allowed her fear to prevent her from trusting him? Why had she ever run away from him? And now, she would never get to thank him or see him again.

The wagon groaned to a stop.

The templars who captured her decided to stop at a farmhouse to rest for the night. They soon locked up the prison cart (and her along with it) in a barn. She could hear them outside, reassuring each other that the anti-magic wards they'd placed on the building would prevent her from using any magic to escape.

Then they started discussing a mirror.

Diora gasped and perked her ears from more information.

The templars had also confiscated the mirror from which she surfaced! She overheard them talking about delivering it to a 'circle.' In fact, Diora had heard this 'circle' mentioned multiple times today… something about making a stop there before taking her Aeonar. Whatever this 'circle' was, the templars had the mirror and would be taking it there!

Any sorrow or regret Diora had felt was suddenly replaced with hope. She still had a chance to get back home! Aeonar and this 'circle' were days away, according to what she heard. Between now and then, if she could somehow free herself, get her hands on that mirror, and try stepping into it, then maybe…!

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Watching the current events unfolding before him in his Eluvian, Uldred smiled to himself. He'd been worried at first, after losing her in the portal. What a stroke of good luck that she had emerged in Ferelden, in The Wonders of Thedas, of all places!

He knew the templars would be stopping at the Circle, and it would be easier to kill her when they arrived. But that could be days away. He only had a small window of opportunity to succeed in his plan, and time was slipping away quickly. The spell to connect both worlds was strongest when the Golden Star appeared brightest in the morning sky and aligned with the Eye of the Red Dragon constellation; it grew weaker with each passing day as the distance between the two stars grew apart. Losing her in the portal had cost him the chance to perform the sacrificial spell at that critical moment. Within a day or two, the spell would completely useless until the next occurrence of alignment. He could not waste time and wait for her to come to him.

He would go to her.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

The templars had stopped at a freehold to rest for the night, blissfully unaware of the evil presence observing them through the gilded framed mirror while they dined around the farmer's table. They decided amongst themselves that each would take a turn guarding the prisoner in the barn tonight. After supper, they bid their kind host and his wife good night. The two elder members of the order settled down in their sleeping bags in the common room. The youngest member of the group, Carastor, would take the first watch.

Carastor, known as Caras by his comrades, was a stocky, fresh-faced young man who had taken his vows just earlier this year. After being posted at Ferelden's Circle Tower for the past three months, he had been allowed leave to go to Denerim to visit his sister and ailing mother. Since he was already going to be returning to The Tower after his trip, he'd also been assigned to escort this prisoner and the mirror as far as the Circle Tower on his return trip.

His comrades were already snoring by the time Caras was ready to head out the door. His hand was on the doorknob when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He turned around and frowned.

That mirror.

Its age was unknown, but its condition was quite excellent, with just a few minor scratches on its frame. The frame was carved from a large, single piece of wood and gilded in gold leaf. Its straight edges lacked the ornate scrollwork and embellishments typically found in antique mirrors, but that was made up for in bold geometry. It was a long, full length looking glass with a rectangular bottom, and whoever crafted it had cut a perfect half circle off the very top, creating a graceful scallop that dipped into and across the top of the mirror. A small, intricate five-petaled flower was engraved at the two points where the sides of the mirror met the curve of the cut. A decorative urn and leaf motif adorned the lowest part of the curve, and a single, delicate vine tasseled along down each of the sides. The cut created the illusion of a tall invisible curtain, and the looking glass was a stage.

It was only for a split second, but he swore he saw a shadow blur across his reflection. The oddest tingling sensation that the mirror was staring back at him prickled the hairs on his back.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

Caras cautiously approached the mirror, with the intent to cover it up with his cloak. He didn't even have time to shout out a warning as a sinister violet glow engulfed him into the darkness.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

A scream woke her up.

Heart pounding and hairs standing on end, Diora stared into the darkness and listened. _'Something's not right…'_

She lifted her head at the sound of footsteps crunching down the path from the farmhouse a few minutes later. She heard a jingle of keys unlocking the padlock and a dull, metallic clang as it hit the dusty ground outside the barn. She furrowed her brows when the barn door creaked open and one of the templars walked in. She recognized him as the one named Caras. His golden hair gleamed in the moonlight.

As did his bloody sword.

"No! Please!" she cried him, tucking herself into the smallest ball possible in the far corner of her cage.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he approached the wagon and unlocked the iron gate to her prison. He reached in and pulled her by the hair, twisting it cruelly around his hand, using it like a leash to drag her out of her iron prison. He whipped her around and forced her to the ground. Diora squealed out in pain, turning around to gaze into the eyes of her attacker. They were pure black and burning with malice. His face contorted into a sinister smile. Her eyes widened in terror as he swung his sword down in a swift, powerful blow.

"NOOOO!" cried Diora as he swung the sword down. Somehow, she instinctively knew to roll to her side just so that when the sword slice through the air, it buried itself into the wooden floor inches from her head.

While Caras pried his sword off the floorboards, Diora took advantage of his split second distraction and kicked him in the codpiece with every ounce of strength she had. He buckled over and howled in rage. She felt his metal gloves claw down down the length of her bare legs as he tried to catch her while she scrambled away from him.

Once outside, she slammed the door shut and snapped the padlock in place to buy herself some time. She leapt back and started sobbing hysterically when her attacker's sword lodged itself into the door, its tip protruding outside and narrowly missing her left eye.

Fueled by adrenaline and fear, she frantically half-stumbled, half-sprinted up the stony path on the hill towards the farmhouse. She tripped right before she reached the door and felt a spasm shoot her twisted ankle. She used the door handle as a crutch to help her rise. She swung the door open and screamed.

There was blood everywhere.

The walls were splattered with crimson. The yellow flames crackling in the stone fireplace reflected in a viscous pool of blood seeping over the wooden floorboards. She felt a warm wetness on her cheek and thought it was from her own tears, but the fingers that smeared it away were stained red. Oh, god...! It was even dripping down on her from the ceiling.

The templars had been slaughtered in their sleep. The farmer was dead on the kitchen floor, his head twisted at an odd angle. Diora could see glints of white protruding from his neck. His wife lay beside him. She had a long, gaping wound down her back. An expression of utter horror was frozen on her lifeless face.

"Omigod, omigod, omigod!" Diora breathed over and over. This was not happening. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised a trembling hand up to her lips, swallowing back the rolling urge in her stomach.

Shit!

Why couldn't she think clearly?!

Why were the only thoughts in her head flashing, fast-forwarding scenes from scary movies where the victims died awful, gory deaths? That scene out of _Scream_ with Randy - right, the rules to surviving a horror movie! She'd never gotten drunk or done drugs before, AND she was still a virgin. Wait! As of _Scream 4_, unexpected was the new cliche and virgins could now die!

'_NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO THINKING ABOUT SCARY MOVIES, DIORA! THAT CRAZY TEMPLAR WILL BE HERE ANY SECOND AND HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU! You need to find a weapon. No, no, no! Not a weapon. You can't fight him. You need to find a place to hide!' _

Her eyes scoured the room.

And then she saw the mirror.

The mirror! YES! That could be her way out of here!

But as she limped her way over… The glass - there was something odd and ominous about it. Ultraviolet stormclouds churned and green lightning flashed beneath its surface. Diora could barely make out her own reflection in that dark tempest. Did this mean that some doorway was open? Her legs crumpled beneath her and she collapsed into an exhausted heap in front of it. Her fingers squeaked across the mirror and she held her breath.

Cold. Hard. Glass.

The veneer of poise and presence of mind with which Diora typically carried herself crumbled, along with any vestige of sanity she had remaining. She violently wrung her hand through her hair and clutched at her face like a mad beast before breaking down into wrenching sobs.

"GOD DAMN IT! Why won't you fucking work?! Work for me, God damn you, you STUPID, SON OF A MOTHER FUCK-FUCKING mirror!" she shrieked wildly. She clawed at the mirror, leaving bloody streaks on the cold glass.

She heard the slow creak of a door.

She froze in place, both hands braced against the mirror. Though her back was to the door, she could see everything in the mirror's reflection. She didn't even dare to breathe. She was sweating like a pitcher of ice water on a summer day. It trickled down off her cheeks and dripped onto the wooden floorboards.

The jingle of Caras's boots with each deliberate step towards her tolled like a death knell in her ears. Each little metallic rattle twisted Diora's heart in an excruciating grip, tighter and tighter. Tighter still, until it had acutely paralyzed her senses, and all that remained of her was a wretched, trembling husk of fear and hopelessness clothed in a once snowy virginal dress which was now a crimson death shroud.

His reflection paused in the mirror. He stood behind her and with both hands, raised his sword high.

'_I'm scared…! I am so scared!'_

"NOW, YOU'RE MINE!" he shouted, swinging the steel blade down in one, powerful stroke.

Diora braced for the killing blow.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

They say that your life flashes in front of your eyes before you die. That's only partly true. In that split second, time stands still, and it's not only what you can see - it's also every sorrow and every joy you experienced in your life; it's every dream you dreamed and every dream that you left undreamed.

For Diora, it was her mother's gentle, cooling touch on her forehead whenever she was sick with a fever; the deep, reassuring timbre of her father's laugh mixed her own peals of delight when she was still a child and he would hoist her up high into the air. She saw Teddy's winsome, toothy grin and the mischievous sparkle in Aeries's indigo eyes. The grittiness and velvet creaminess of sweet, salted caramel cheesecake melted in her taste buds; the scent of apples and oiled leather overwhelmed her, and the profound regret of never having fallen in love -!

'_NO.'_

She didn't want to die. She couldn't! Not here. Not...like...this!

The mirror suddenly pulsed like a heartbeat beneath her hands. A massive blast of energy burst open like a firecracker. Its force knocked the blade out of Caras's hand and sent him sprawling back. Searing white heat shot up from the glass through her fingertips and surged across her entire being in an electrifying sparks, awakening something inside her. Ripples of light fluttered across its surface and cast their rays into the dancing shroud of shadows beneath, shearing through the darkness. A mist of gold fell on her, cool and fresh, like being sprayed by an ocean wave on a breezy summer day.

It was like...she had unlocked something.

'_How...beautiful…!'_

A golden light engulfed her.

And then…

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

A bright golden light erupted from the Eluvian. Its force sent Uldred flying across his chamber, knocking him into the wall. Like a rag doll, he crumpled into a heap on the stone floor, breathless.

"What…?! What was that?!" he gasped, staring up across the room and into the Eluvian. What manner of magic had that girl summoned from the mirror? Or was it even the mirror? Perhaps it was the girl herself. Whatever it was, it had been strong enough to overcome the blood spell he conjured earlier to possess that templar. A scowl broke out on his face and he rose to his feet. "No! I will not lose this time! I will not lose to her!"

Uldred knew now that attempting to possess Caras through the mirror was not enough to accomplish his goal. He would have to travel through the Eluvian and kill the girl himself. It would be easy enough now that the other two templars were dead. He couldn't waste any time. He would not fail!

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

'_Darkness. Am I even alive? Or is this...the afterlife?'_

The last thing she remembered was apples. Odd. Why would she be thinking about apples when she was dying? And there was something more. It wasn't just apples, there had been...a flash of someone's face. Why couldn't she remember the face…?

"Maker have mercy! Are you alive?!" a voice echoed in the darkness.

Diora moaned softly in reply. Though she was slowly coming into consciousness, Diora eyes remained closed. She allowed her thoughts and her others senses to precede her sense of sight. Her memories flooded back.

'_That's right! At the very last moment, the mirror…! It started working! I'm alive! I must be! How else can I feel the throbbing pain in my head. Or taste the blood on my lips? Or even hear that voice? I'm alive! I'm alive!' _the voice inside her head sang joyously.

She heard a sigh of relief and the same voice, a male voice, continued, "Oh, blessed Andraste! Miss, can you hear me? Please, wake up!" Someone was gently shaking her shoulders. Persistently. It was irritating! Each little sway transferred waves of achiness through her battered body. Diora reluctantly opened her groggy eyes.

And then she was staring the murderer straight in the eyes.

It jolted her to the present like a lightning bolt.

"Oh, thank the Maker you're-uomph!"

"Fuck you! You just get the FUCK away from me!" Diora shrieked madly, wildly kicking and flailing at him. She screamed and raked her hands across his face, drawing blood, causing him to fall on his back and swear a muffled cry into his covered face. Her eyes quickly darted around. '_SHIT! I thought I made it back home. I'm still stuck here in this- the mirror!' _She crawled backwards up against mirror. Her frantic fingers groped all over its surface for an outlet, anything. SHIT! It wasn't working anymore! Why wasn't it working?! She had gotten it to work before!

"Please, calm down! I-I know what this looks like to you, but I swear! It wasn't me! Your magic just saved me! Whatever you did when you touched the mirror, it freed me! I was possessed! Something in that mirror, it possessed me! It made me kill my friends, and I couldn't stop it! I was trapped in my own mind, and all I could see were these terrible images…! I could see into his mind and feel… And Maker, what he wanted to do with you…! I don't know why, but he wants to kill you!" Caras's voice broke down and he pound the wooden floorboards with his hand. "Maker forgive me…!" he started sobbing.

Diora barely registered what he was ranting on about before the mirror started humming behind her. She felt the surface vibrate and bubble up and gasped. '_Could-could it be working again?!' _She turned to look, only to start screaming at the top of her lungs when a pair of hands broke through the clouded glass and tried to wrap their fingers around her neck

"Andraste have mercy on us!" cried Caras, wrenching Diora away from the mirror. He grabbed his blade in his hands and held it up to the looking glass. They took several steps back.

Out of the storm of violet and grey stepped an older man of middle stature, dressed in thick crimson robes. The wooden staff strapped to his back was polished black, with a silvery crystal ball on its end. The crystal seemed to be glowing with magical energy. A small, curved dagger with an ebony and gold trimmed handle was tied to the purple sash around his waist. Deep wrinkles crossed his forehead and frown lines ran down the sides of his dark lips. He was completely bald, but he had thick black brows. His beady black eyes gleamed coldly at Diora, as though in hunger.

Recognition filled Caras's face. He knew this mage from his time at the Circle Tower. "Uldred! You monster! You! You're responsible for this!" he shouted in disbelief, utterly horrified.

"Ahhhhh, yes, Caras, was it?" Uldred remarked. "I remember you from the Tower."

'_That voice! It's the same voice that I heard this morning in my bedroom!'_ realized Diora, shuddering. This was the one who had brought her here. This was the man who wanted her dead.

The templar in Caras surfaced. Diora felt his body steel up in front of her. "You will die for your transgressions against the Maker, maleficar!"

Uldred rolled his head back and started laughing maniacally. The sound sent shivers up Diora's spine. "You can try, templar, but I've come too far to let you stop me from killing the girl!"

Uldred suddenly released a force of telekinetic energy that knocked both of them back. Caras crashed into the dining table and Diora struck the wall behind him. It knocked the wind out of her and made her insides feel like they had been sucker punched with a giant baseball bat. She sat up, and while trying to catch her breath, choked on some of the blood she was coughing up. Uldred followed his mind blast spell with a wave of fire, which would have scorched her for sure, had Caras not pulled her down behind the overturned dining table, which acted as a shield against the flames.

'_HOLY SHIT, HE'S SHOOTING FLAMES FROM HIS HANDS!'_

"I tire of this!" Uldred declared. He closed his fist and Caras rose up into the air, a silent scream on his lips as Uldred bound him in a crushing prison spell. The templar crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Uldred then turned his hard gaze unto Diora, who was crawling on all fours to escape from him.

"NOOOoo-oooWWWW-ow-ow!" wept Diora as he grabbed hold of her hair and forced her to stand on her feet. She closed her eyes and bit her lips, trying to silence her sobs.

"Look at me… Look at me!" Uldred commanded, pulling her head back so that her eyes would meet his. He had prayed to the demons in The Fade to grant him the perfect sacrifice, and here she was in flesh and blood, the one the Eluvian had shown to him. He had her in his grasp. He could almost taste the fear emanating from her, and it filled him with a sadistic, twisted sense of power. He had wanted her and succeeded in bringing her here. He would surely succeed in the spell to open a portal to her world.

Diora did as he commanded. Her tears were streaming down her face and dripping into the hollow of her chest, where she could feel her heart pounding frantically. She gulped for air. "Pl-please...who are you? What do you want with me?" she begged tearfully, searching in vain for mercy in those pitch black eyes.

"Shh, shh, shh," whispered Uldred. He slid his finger across her neck and rested it over her pulse. Pride welled up within him, and he couldn't resist reveling in his power over her as he revealed his sinister plan. "Right here,' he cooed, "is where I'll use my dagger to cut you. Your blood is the last ingredient I need to carry out my dark curse. I require the blood of an untainted innocent in order to cast my spell. I called you here. I used blood magic to ask the Eluvian mirror to show me the most worthy sacrifice, and it brought you to me. I had to wait quite some time for you, for the perfect moment when the connection between our realms and the Eluvian are at their most powerful, when the Golden Star in the eastern morning sky aligns with the Eye of the Red Dragon constellation." He reached for his dagger.

'_...Your star shines ever more in the dominion of the Red Dragon… Your reflection is cast in the mirror of illusion, darkness, and blood...'_

The fortune teller's words reverberated in her memory.

She finally understood what it all meant.

Diora felt the cold blade press against her neck.

_Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep!_

Diora's eyes snapped opened. '_My cell phone?! But how?!'_ the thought raced through her mind.

Uldred jerked his head around. "What was that? What is that sound?"

She heard her ringtone start singing: _'Where do you go when you're lonely? Where do you go when you're blue? Where do you go when you're lonely? I'll follow you... When the stars go blue...'_

Uldred scowled darkly. "Where is that singing coming from? What manner of spell is this that you are casting, girl?!" He jabbed the tip of the dagger into her flesh to force an answer out of her.

She yelped as the sharp tip stung into her. That hurt! It really, really hurt! A delicate trail of blood blazed down the length of her neck and down her collarbone. Her eyes shot in the direction of the duffle bag, where her phone was sounding off incoming calls and text messages. But even more astonishing... next to her pack, the mirror-!

The tiniest golden flutter was quivering on its surface!

"DIE, MAGE!"

Caras had regained consciousness and charged at them. He waved his arms high into the air and brought down a blinding flash of fury and righteous fire down on Uldred. The impact of the holy smite knocked Diora and the dagger out of Uldred's clutches, but it wasn't enough to kill the mage, it only momentarily stunned him. Meanwhile, Caras collapsed to the ground. The spell had drained him of what little strength he had.

"Run!" Caras urged Diora.

Diora wasted no time. She scrambled over to the mirror and touched it. Hope and relief overflowed within her when her hands broke through the glass, sending forth ripples on a the surface like the wind sweeping across a lake on a calm day. It was working! She didn't know how, but it was working! She pulled her duffle bag over her shoulders and took a deep breath, ready to take the plunge when -

'_Caras.'_

Damn it! Her stupid self-conscience! She couldn't abandon him. Even if he tried to kill her earlier, he'd just saved her life. She could never live with herself if she left him here. She let out a cry of frustration and ran over to him, helping him up to his feet.

"Caras, if you want to live, you have to trust me! We have to go into the mirror! We'll be safe there! I know it!" she told him urgently, dragging him to his feet and pulling him along. Damn, he was heavy with all that armor on him!

"WHAT?! Maker's breath, are you mad?! The cursed mirror!" Caras's feet wavered beneath him.

"YES!" Diora shouted into his face hysterically. "Come with me if you want to live!" Even at this moment of sheer desperation, it didn't escape Diora that this was a quote straight from that scene in _The Terminator. _Now if only she had a giant machine gun and a cool motorcycle - damn it, she really needed to stop comparing this place to movies and books! This was real life!

Caras cast one look back at Uldred, who had begun to stir, and then locked his gemstone green eyes with Diora's stormy ones. Wide and grey, flecked with bits of sky blue and lined with a dark, dark ring. Filled with fear, yes, but there was goodness and truth in them, and a strength that was rare, even amongst the strongest, bravest men. It was like he was seeing her for the first time as a human being and not some mirror demon. He nodded.

"We'll go together, now!" said Diora as they made it to the looking glass.

Everything happened in an instant, so quickly that Diora didn't even have time to scream.

Uldred's reflection suddenly flashed in front of them.

In that split second, Caras had lunged forward and placed himself as a shield in between Uldred and Diora. Diora turned to see the crimson tide gush from the side of Caras's neck where a dagger had lodged itself. Furious that he had missed his intended target, Uldred grunted ferociously through clenched teeth and viciously twisted the blade before ripping it out of his victim. The bloody mist that sprayed on Diora's horror stricken face seemed to burn into her skin.

Caras coughed, blood gurgling forth from his lips. With what little strength he had left in him, he tried to turn his head one last time and smile softly at Diora, before the falling momentum and the impact of his body knocked her backwards into the mirror. Diora disappeared into a shower of golden light. The magic doorway instantly sealed itself shut behind her as she passed through the portal, transforming into glass.

Caras closed his eyes and allowed his body to simply… fall back.

The looking glass shattered into pieces around his lifeless body.

* * *

_**AN: **So, what did you guys think? Your reviews really keep me going. And if you didn't understand the reference to the smell of apples when Diora's life flashed before her, read Chapter 2. Thanks! *hugs*_

_**Up next:** Duncan surprises Alistair and the Grey Wardens when he brings a strange girl from the Wilds back to camp at Ostagar. Any guesses of who this strange girl might be?_


	5. The Unexpected Reunion in Ostagar

_**AN: **Hi, everyone! Thanks for dropping in, a__nd thank the Maker for Bioware, Dragon Age, and Alistair! Shout out to new follows/favs/reviews: PainInUrAft-Nexy, Renrinrin, writingNOOB, and whrrtrudy._

**_RECAP:_**_ Uldred pulls Diora from the modern world into Thedas through his magical mirror, the Eluvian. She appears through a mirror in Denerim, where the templars chase after her, believing her to be a mirror demon. After a brief encounter with Alistair, she gets captured by the templars. On route to the Circle and Aeonar, the templars fall into Uldred's trap. Diora manages to escape with the help of the templar Caras, who gives up his life protecting her._

*YAY! ALISTAIR IS BACK! And yes, the unexpected reunion = Diora+Alistair. *hugs*

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**The Unexpected Reunion in Ostagar**

Diora was unsure just how much time she spent fleeing. She sped blindly down the only passageway before her, a hazy colorless tunnel with a stone pathway that lit up beneath her feet with each step she took. The passage reverberated with the sounds of her racing footsteps. She had no idea where this path was leading, and there seemed to be no doorways in sight. She baptized the grey mist with a trail of sparkling tears, and the air around her seemed to come alive in a beautiful myriad of iridescent rainbow hues at her touch. The walls cradled her in an ethereal song as she dashed along them.

The beauty of the magic around her was lost to her. Instead, she was trapped in flashes of nightmares: how powerless she had felt beneath the bloodthirsty gleam of Uldred's beady black eyes; the sickening sound of his dagger sinking into ligament and muscle, burying itself to the hilt in Caras's neck; the spray of blood, like warm rain against her skin. A sharp ache constricted her chest. Had she really been summoned into this world to be a human sacrifice? It was too much for her broken spirit to bear. She wanted to forget. She wanted to forget everything! She sped up her pace, as if doing so would help her escape the memories, as if -

Instantly and without warning, a brilliant circular light flashed underneath her feet. The stone path beneath her suddenly gave way into thin air, and the brightness beneath her swallowed her up like a sinkhole.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Duncan smashed his pommel against a hurlock's face, inciting an angry howl from the creature. The Warden Commander slide his dagger across the hurlock's throat and kicked at the creature's chest. A darkspawn arrow danced off his shoulder pad, and Duncan dove for cover behind a massive marble pillar that had long toppled on its side. The cave the Wardens had stumbled on while scouting the darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds was full of such things, these grand white ruins of old. Once a symbol of the glory and power of the Tevinter Empire, they were now broken down bits of marble half-buried by rocks and the passage of time.

The Warden Commander and two senior Wardens were in the middle of a vicious skirmish with a group of darkspawn scouts when the walls of the cavern suddenly shook and earth beneath their feet tremored ominously. Beneath a vaulted canopy of stalactites, loose dirt and stone crumbled and pelted down on those below. Dancing rays of golden light suddenly blazed forth in the darkness, brilliant like the birth of a star. A shockwave blasted through the cavern, sending darkspawn and wardens alike flying through the air.

After a few minutes that felt more like hours to those stunned by the blast, the ground stilled. The light waned and the dust settled. The cavern was once again cast in black shadows and the bluish white halo cast by the phosphorescent deposits embedded in the ancient rocks. With a groan, Duncan lifted himself off the cavern floor.

What Duncan saw astonished him. The darkspawn they had been battling earlier were dead! He glanced over to the nearest Senior Grey Warden, a dwarf who, in his colorful language, voiced the exact same thought that Duncan had been pondering himself.

"By the tits of my ancestors, what was that light?!" Grigor, the dwarven Grey Warden warrior who had asked the question, picked himself up, trusty dragonbone maul gripped both hands. He shook his head, sending the bits of gravel that had landed in his greying hair flying in all directions. "Argh…! Fire and blight!" he spat when the attempt did little to dislodge the dirt from his bushy braided beard and instead caused the loose dust on his furry eyebrows to fall into his eyes.

"Whatever it was, it killed the remaining darkspawn," remarked Alain in his thick Orlesian accent. He kicked at an Emissary. Convinced the darkspawn was really dead, Alain shook the dust from his long, pale moonsilk blond hair. The Senior Grey Warden ranger then nocked a quiver on his bow and pointed it in the direction of the blast's epicenter. His narrowed light blue eyes tried to pierce through the thick haze of dust.

Duncan cautiously stepped out from his hiding place. "Grigor, Alain, be on your guard. I will see what it is." The Grey Warden Commander silently stepped over the bodies of dead darkspawn, following their trail to the epicenter of the blast. Duncan's movements were deft and quiet, not so unusual for someone who had spent most of his life as a well-trained rogue.

Duncan paused when he saw a glint of silver in front of him. As the dust cleared in the air, he realized it was from his own silver and white armor, reflecting back at him through a mirror. The Warden Commander's eyes narrowed and studied the looking glass. Earlier, in the heat of battle, no one had noticed the mirror because it had been obscured from view by a thick curtain of hanging vines. The blast had swept the vines aside. Ripples across the surface distorted the image of the Rivaini man with the swarthy skin, dark hair, and a curved hooked nose. The flutters on the glass pond slowly ceased, and Duncan stared hard into his reflection for several more seconds.

An Eluvian.

Mirrors such as this one were rare, but certainly not unheard of. The Grey Wardens knew of the existence of such mirrors. The Arlathan Elves used them as communication and teleportation devices, though that knowledge had been lost for hundreds of years since the fall of Arlathan. The Tevinters had tried in vain to master the power of the mirrors, succeeding only in using them for communication.

The mirror was circular and quite tall in height; its arch rose several feet above Duncan's head. It was inlaid in silver, and an exquisite filigree of floral patterns surrounded its circular border. Silvery wisps of blossoms and vines reached out towards him; the mirror had been beautifully crafted in such a way that it resembled a blossoming crown that had been turned on its side. The haze continued to dissipate, and the Warden Commander glanced down and noted that the looking glass stood elegantly before him on a silver base with four, silver, heart-shaped feet.

_And there was a girl!_

Duncan held his breath.

She was unconscious. Human. A slender, virginal, young thing. She was still bathed in a gentle golden glow that was slowly ebbing away. A crease marred her brow. She clutched a large satchel, the likes of which he had never seen. Clad in a blood stained shift, and her body covered in cuts and bruises.

Duncan called his companions over. He sheathed his sword, but kept his dagger in his hand just as a precaution. He knelt down before the young woman and gently nudged her shoulder, an action which garnered no response from the her. He could sense no sign of corruption in her. She was certainly no darkspawn. Even in her current state, she appeared too well-bred to be one of the Chasind or the wildlings that lived deep in the marshes of the Korcari Wilds. A mage, perhaps? If she was, she didn't look like any kind of mage he had ever seen. Had the light come from her? How had she come to be in the cave? Duncan knew the Eluvian had something to do with her appearance, but… how… was that...even possible?!

"Maker's breath, Duncan! It's a girl!" exclaimed Alain. He kept his arrow trained on the young woman on the ground.

Grigor, however, relaxed his stance and lowered the giant hammer before him. "Ancestors have mercy! Is she even alive How did she even get here?!"

Duncan's gaze remained locked on the unconscious girl while he answered his companion. "Yes, she's alive. I think she came through the mirror."

"Listen to yourself, Duncan! That's impossible!" Grigor walked up to the mirror and poked at the glass. He cursed when his finger sent ripples flowing across the mirror. "Bloody stones!"

"Be careful, Duncan. We don't know what she is. She must be very powerful, if she killed half a dozen darkspawn with that blast. She could be a dangerous mage, or some kind of witch," Alain warned Duncan as the Warden Commander placed a gloved hand on the girl's forehead.

"She's burning with fever." Even through his leather gloves, Duncan felt the heat radiating from her body. He debated several options internally to himself before making his decision. Her strange appearance, and the light that had somehow killed those darkspawn…. Duncan needed answers. "We must take her back to camp. We can't leave her here. The darkspawn might return."

Alain shook his head disapprovingly and raked a hand through his shoulder-length white-blond hair. "Duncan, are you sure we shouldn't just kill her? We don't know what she is! She could be dangerous!"

"No, Alain. We will take her back to camp," Duncan said firmly.

"Very well, Duncan. I trust you know what you are doing. This will certainly stir some commotion at camp," Alain sighed in acquiescence.

"She sure is a pretty one, isn't she? Wonder what happened to her clothes…?" Grigor pondered with a prurient chuckle. Grigor had a zest for life, wine, and women. Just because he was a dwarf didn't mean he didn't appreciate a fine human female form when he saw one.

Duncan rolled his eyes let out a grating sigh. He unwrapped the satchel's strap from around the girl's shoulders and tossed it up to Alain. The Orlesian begrudgingly caught the pack and groaned about how heavy and bulky it felt. Duncan easily lifted the girl's tiny frame into his arms and started heading towards the passage leading to the cave's entrance.

"What about this mirror, Duncan?" Grigor asked.

Duncan paused in his tracks and turned around to study the mirror one last time. How calm the glass surface now seemed. It glowed and softly reflected the bluish-white light of the cavern. Something about that mirror… struck him just as much as the mysterious girl in his arms. Just like the young woman, it held secrets, he was sure. But what kind of secrets? Duncan shook his head. "Leave it be. Once the darkspawn are dealt with, we will return to examine it further."

The dwarf followed his companions out of the cavern, cursing at the black crow that had suddenly swooped down from out of nowhere right above his shoulders. He picked up a stone and attempted to hit the blighted thing as it flew down the cavern passageway past the group and into the forest.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

"Hey, kid, did you hear about that girl yet?"

Alistair, who had been focused on keeping his heaping dinner plate of beans, salt pork, and bread precariously balanced on his lap, eyed Grigor suspiciously. Of course he had not heard. He and Duncan's newest recruits had just returned from their assignment in the Wilds. And of course Grigor knew that Alistair didn't know. What was Grigor up to?

"Okay, I'll bite. What girl?" Alistair asked, hoping he wouldn't regret taking the bait.

Grigor chuckled gleefully. He was going to have some fun teasing the rookie Grey Warden about this one. "The we found wandering naked in the Wilds today, of course!"

Alistair sputtered and sprayed the water he had been drinking all over Grigor. While Alistair coughed and recovered rather ungracefully from his bout of surprise, Grigor howled in disgust and flicked the water droplets off his splintmail.

"You're joking, right? This is one of your tricks, isn't it, Grigor? Ever since you found out about- about- that I- _you know _\- you- you've been trying-!" Alistair's pitch rose with each word he sputtered out. His ears started tingling with embarrassment, and his cheeks turned bright red.

Grigor could not resist laughing heartily as the lad stumbled over his words. Somehow, Grigor and the others had found that Alistair had never been with a woman; and ever since, Grigor had tried to "fix" that situation for Alistair. The dwarf had even gone as far as to proposition a "businesswoman" on Alistair's behalf here at camp. She had been less than pleased when Alistair had bluntly - yet politely- booted her and her services from his tent.

"Grigor, you know full well she was not naked," Alain said dryly. He sat across the fire from Alistair, meticulously whittling at his nails with a dagger. The Orlesian Senior Warden was careful not to reveal too much information, as Duncan had explicitly instructed him and Grigor not to mention anything about the mirror until the girl awoke and could be questioned.

As Alain had predicted earlier in the cave, the strange woman's appearance here at camp had indeed created some excitement, especially among the men. To further exacerbate the situation, Duncan decided to take the girl to his own tent instead of the camp's infirmary - though that had more to do with allowing the girl to recover in relative safety and away from curious eyes rather than any personal agenda on the Warden Commander's part. Within several hours, however, everyone had heard about the mysterious young woman the Grey Wardens rescued from the cave in the Wilds, including King Cailan himself.

"Bah, griffon's buttocks! I'm just teasing the young'un a little!" Grigor countered, animatedly waving Alain's comment away - and sploshing half the ale from the cup in his hands as he did so. "But she was as good as naked! Dressed as she was, didn't leave much to the imagination. And an eyeful, too, by the stones! Nubile little thing and all slender shapely limbs. You definitely wouldn't have turned _her_ away the other night." He took a swig of ale from his cup and winked at Alistair, much to the latter's abashment.

Alistair tried to ignore the dwarf's last comment and concentrated on eating his dinner. He took a bite out of a hunk of bread. It was a hearty bread, sweet and nutty, with berries and whole grains baked in. The young Grey Warden chewed silently and pondered over this new bit of information from Grigor and Alain. Alistair wondered why Duncan hadn't mentioned this girl when they met earlier.

As if reading Alistair's thoughts, Alain spoke, "You have only just returned. I am sure Duncan was planning on telling you himself, but he has been busy making preparations for the upcoming Joining Ceremony for the new recruits. He wants to perform the ceremony tonight."

That was when Daveth sauntered over and joined them. "Alistair, did you hear? While we were getting darkspawn blood and avoiding getting turned into toads by those witches for them treaties, Duncan found some naked girl in the Wilds. I managed to sneak a peek at her in Duncan's tent before the healer there chased me off."

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

_Duncan stood high on a cliff, watching the gathering storm. It lashed out with lightning that split the skies and rumbled with thunder that shook the earth. Flames ravaged the war-torn valley. Above the trees, hot smoke ascended into the air, burning his lungs. Above the howling wind, an ethereal melody of beautiful whispers rose. It hummed in the blackness that slithered across the land before him and engulfed the daylight in darkness. It was a call that could not be ignored, compelling his blood and caressing his mind. Once a thing of perfection, it was now corrupt, tainted by the same ichor that coursed through his veins._

_The call of an Old God._

_The nightmare was a familiar one, recurring more constantly of late._

_Only... this time, the scent of roses floated in the air. Velvety and intoxicating. Deep red and dusky pink rose petals cascaded down upon him from the rust-colored skies. Mingled with the choking smoke and flying embers. _

_Flower petals and soot._

_Mingled sweetness and bitterness._

_Ashes of roses._

_This struck Duncan as odd. How often had he dreamt this black dream? Countless times, and never like this. Where were the rose petals coming from? He glanced all around and froze._

_The girl they had found in the cave._

_She seemed just as shocked as he was when their eyes met. She stood before him, bathed in starlight, golden like the sun yet airy like the moon. A divine vision amidst a shower of blooming rose petals._

_Surely, this was _his _dream, wasn't it? How did she come to be in it?_

_A pained expression shadowed her face. The encroaching darkness seemed to weaken her. Her light faded from her as she fell to her knees. She lifted her trembling hands before her and let out a staggered cry as she looked down into her palms._

_Duncan closed the gap between them - and felt like he had been suddenly turned to stone when he glanced at her open palms. _

_Fat, crimson black droplets dotted her finely shaped hands._

_Instead of raining rose petals, the sky was weeping tainted blood._

Duncan awoke with a start.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

_Bloody rain…!_

Diora gasped and bolted up, heart racing at what felt like a hundred beats per minute. Perspiration dotted her forehead. She gulped, wincing at how dry her throat felt, and tried to control her ragged pants with deep, measured breaths. Someone had changed her into a flouncy nightshirt of sorts. Then she looked down at her hands and felt a wave of relief wash through her.

A dream. The bloody rain on her hands had only been a dream. But it had seemed so real...

"Ah, so you finally awaken," a kindly voice caught her attention.

Diora looked up and saw a handsome, middle aged woman looking at her. The woman was wearing a long, green robe and had a golden cord tied around her waist. She had greying, pale blond hair tied back into a short ponytail. The fine lines around her kind blue-green eyes crinkled and her lips turned up into a compassionate smile. She sat down on the chair next to the cot and placed a hand on Diora's forehead.

"Good. Your fever has gone," the woman said, seeming pleased. "You had a fever and some minor injuries when Duncan brought you back to camp earlier today. Do you remember, child?"

Diora mutely shook her head. The last thing she remembered before waking up was being swallowed up by the light in the passageway.

She looked around at her surroundings. She was sitting up on a rather lumpy cot in a modest sized tent, facing the tent flap. The tent was sparsely decorated, with only a simple wooden trunk sat at the end of the cot, a makeshift table with a single burning lamp, and an equally rustic looking chair on which the unnamed woman was now sitting down. Her duffle bag lay a ground of grassy carpet next to the chair. Judging by shadows outside and the lamp burning in the tent, Diora guessed it was either late at night or very early in the morning.

"Where am I? Who-who are you?" Diora whispered.

"This is the King's encampment in Ostagar. My name is Wynne. I am a healer and Senior Enchanter of the Circle," the woman answered.

Diora couldn't quell the bitter disappointment that washed over her. So she hadn't made it back home. Instead, she was….

She didn't get to finish the thought. The flaps to the tent parted, and an older man with a commanding bearing strode in.

"How is she, Wynne?" he asked.

"Awake now, as you can see, Duncan," Wynne replied.

Diora studied Duncan with wary eyes. He had dark hair that was greying around the temples. His silver chest plate bore a unique pattern of swirls and lines, and rows of copper plates and buckles ran down the length of his arms. Time spent in the elements weathered his dark complexion, and a sunbaked glow bronzed his naturally swarthy skin. His deep brown eyes bore a solemn countenance, and his ruddy lips were set in a thin line amidst a neatly trimmed beard. To her surprise, a gold earring flashed in one of his ears.

"I saw you… in my dream...! It _was _you, I'm sure!" Diora exclaimed, recognition lighting up her widening eyes. Then, what little color she had faded from her face. She shuddered. "You- you had - _shadows_ all around you, singing," she whispered, sounding confused.

Duncan was as stunned as if he had been struck with a physical blow. So he had not just dreamed about the girl, she had actually been in his dream! "How did you...? Are you a demon?!" he demanded, drawing his dagger.

"NO! No! I'm not a demon! I swear! I'm just a normal high school student! Please don't hurt me!" Diora, on the verge of tears, huddled under the blankets.

"Duncan! You're scaring her!" Wynne interjected, her maternal instincts flaring up. She stood up and stepped between Duncan and the girl.

Duncan watched the girl cower behind the covers. Her pupils had dilated until they swallowed up her irises, turning her eyes into fearful pools of blackness surrounded by a delicate ring the color of a cloudy blue sky. For Duncan, the effect of staring into that starkly pale, innocent face was startling and devastating at the same time.

She certainly looked like a simple girl, a very frightened, simple girl. Still, Duncan knew appearances could be deceiving. Dagger still drawn, he asked her, "Who are you? What's your name?"

Diora nervously licked her lips. Fear left her mouth feeling like it was full of cotton balls. Still, this man's penetrating stare bore down on her, waiting for her to answer his question. Finally, she managed to weakly croak out, "Diora. Diora Starr." Then she motioned at his dagger. Sounding less frightened now, but still incredibly nervous, she pleaded,"Can you... Can you please put that down now?"

Duncan noted how tightly her hands clutched at the blanket, the delicate skin stretched tautly over her white knuckles. Perhaps this girl was not a demon, else she would have lashed out in defense already. Satisfied enough that the girl did not pose an immediate threat, Duncan sheathed his dagger.

"My name is Duncan. I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden," he introduced himself to her. "My men and I found you in a cave in the Wilds earlier today. Can you tell me how you came to be there?"

For reasons Diora could not explain, fresh tears spilled over and streamed down face. Maybe it was the overwhelming flood of relief that somehow, after everything she'd been through, she was still alive; it was also very conceivable that she was just going insane. She sniffed and wiped at her tears, trying to hold herself together. Still they came, followed by her blubbering sobs.

Duncan was at a complete loss. Fortunately for him, Wynne knew exactly what needed to be done. The healer's eyes filled with concern, and she moved onto the bed and pulled the girl into her arms.

"I- I don't mean to cry. It's just… I was scared! I was so scared! Please, I just want to go home. I hate it here! I don't belong here," Diora wept into Wynne's bosom.

Wynne gently rocked Diora back and forth on the bed. "Of course we'll help you find a way back home," she comforted the crying young woman.

"No, you don't understand! I- I don't know if I can ever go back. I'm not from this world."

Duncan and Wynne exchange startled looks.

"What do you mean you're _not from this world _?" Duncan asked.

"I'm not from here. There's no magic where I come from. I'm just a normal high-school student." Diora wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. "A mage used his magic mirror to bring here. He said he needed my blood for his dark ritual! I thought jumping into the mirror would take me back home, but it didn't work. Please take me back home. I just want to go back home…!"

"There, there, child. It will be all right," the healer said in hushed, soothing tones.

"It's not _alright_. How can it be _alright _when I'm still trapped here?!" Diora demanded, growing hysterical.

Diora had never experienced death and violence until she came to this world. She cried for herself. She cried for the farmer's family and for the slain templars. She wondered if she could ever forget the look on Caras's face as the life slowly dimmed from his eyes, if the heat and coppery smell of his blood on her skin could ever be washed away from her memory. Her last thoughts before she drifted into slumber were of the crystal waters of Aster Lake, where Aeries was surely waiting for her….

Wynne gently laid the girl down on the bed. She stroked a strand of hair away from a tear-stained cheek. "Poor dear. That sleeping spell should help calm her down for the time being."

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

When Diora awoke, soft sunlight was gently filtering into the tent.

The memories came rushing back. '_OMIGOD! I told Duncan and Wynne about -! How am I still alive?! They didn't kill me in my sleep!'_

Movement and hushed tones outside the tent interrupted her thoughts. Panicked and unsure about what to do, she lay back down and feigned sleep.

"Your discretion is much appreciated, Wynne. How is she?"

"The poor child is still asleep. And you do not need to fear. I have no intentions of revealing to anyone what she told us last night."

Diora heard the flap rustle as Duncan and Wynne entered the tent.

"What I could piece together from her story…. Wynne, do you really believe that this girl was spirited away from a world without magic into our own? It's ludicrous!"

'_It's not ludicrous, it's the truth, old man!' _ Diora complained silently.

"I understand why you feel that way, Duncan, and yet I believe her. What reason would she have to lie, Duncan? You told me yourself that she appeared through an Eluvian in the Wilds. Does that not support her own story? And the Eluvians are a mystery we do not comprehend, even with our vast knowledge of magic. What if one could open a gateway to another reality using an Eluvian?"

'_Thank you, Wynne!' _Diora gushed to herself.

"It's not just that, Wynne. I know you feel particularly maternal towards her, but this girl… When she appeared, she left half a dozen darkspawn dead in her wake. Who could do that, release that much power? We know she's not a demon, or she would have fought back already. Could she be running from the Circle?"

'_Wait! What the hell?! Dark Swans?'_

"I do not recognize her as a mage from the Circle of Ferelden."

'_What the heck is this circle they keep mentioning? And I'm not a mage!'_

"Could she be an apostate, then? A mage flee-"

"I'm not a mage! I told you already, I'm just a normal high-school student! There's no magic where I come from! Swans are beautiful creatures and shouldn't be killed. And what's this 'circle' everyone keeps talking about?" Diora grumbled, suddenly sitting up in bed. She couldn't resist the small, guilty pleasure she received when she saw Duncan shift uncomfortably in place.

An awkward silence ensued, during which Diora and Duncan engaged each other in a silent staring contest. Finally, defeated and helpless, Diora curled up and hugged her knees. "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm telling the truth. You have to believe me. I don't know what else I can do or who I can turn to," she sighed sorrowfully.

After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, Duncan surprised Diora, and even himself, when he found himself suggesting, "The mirror. If what you say is true, then perhaps the mirror might offer us some answers. What if I were to take you back to the cavern we where we found you?"

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

The official story making its rounds through camp that afternoon was the young girl from the wilds had awoken that morning and, that with the exception of her name, she had no other recollection of her memories or how she had come to be in the Wilds. As such, the Grey Warden Commander himself had placed her under his own, personal protection. One of the advantages of being the Grey Warden Commander was that oftentimes, you could say something and everyone would have to take your word for it. As expected, no one openly questioned Duncan's judgement or actions regarding Diora. The announcement was not enough to refrain curious folk from silent speculation, but Duncan suspected that any rumors about Diora would pale in comparison to the truth - that she was really a girl from a strange world beyond the Eluvian. This way, at least Diora's secret was safe.

What Duncan learned of Diora this morning astounded him. She claimed to be a scholar from a world of science. Magic did not exist where she came from. Somehow, a blood mage had used an Eluvian to bring her into Thedas, intent on using her blood for a dark ritual.

During their conversation, she appeared mentally sound and intelligent, but it was clear she had no notion of Thedas, its geography, or its calendar. It had been quite the surreal experience, sitting down next to her and listening to himself answer questions like, 'What's this circle everyone keeps mentioning?', 'So if this is the Dragon Age, does it mean that dragons exist here?', and 'Oh! Dark _spawn_, not dark swan. Wait… what the heck is darkspawn?"

Her questions had left him reeling in disbelief. What… in the Maker?!

_Everyone_ in Thedas, even small children, knew what the darkspawn were. Even if one had never seen a darkspawn, the word alone evoked fear. The girl had really thought he was talking about swans!

Such things did not sit well with the Grey Warden Commander. Duncan couldn't believe that he was actually considering the validity and truth of Diora's story. Examining the mirror seemed like the next logical step. At the very least, the Eluvian might provide clues to the answers he was looking for.

Of course, the darkspawn remained the first priority. Which was why Duncan had decided that for the time being, the girl would be better off at the follower camp. Once the immediate darkspawn threat was dealt with, he and the Senior Wardens would return to investigate the Eluvian. He would bring Diora and Wynne along. Duncan knew that Grigor, Alain, and Wynne could be trusted to keep Diora's secret.

"Alistair, I have a task for you."

"Oh! Duncan! Of course!" Alistair felt like he had just jumped out of his skin. How did Duncan always manage to move about so stealthily until he was completely behind someone before purposefully making his presence known? Alistair wondered if spooking people like that secretly amused Duncan. Alistair squared his shoulders and cleared his throat in an attempt to appear and sound more presentable. "What did you need, Duncan?"

"I have… a certain matter I would like to discuss with you," Duncan started saying, carefully choosing his words. "King Cailan has requested the presence of the Grey Wardens at the war council this morning, and -"

"And you want me to join you?" Alistair interrupted, excitement bubbling over. Not that Alistair really cared for war councils, he imagined it would be long and dull and he wouldn't even have much to say. Still, to be invited….

"Um… No, Alistair, not this time." Duncan shook his head slightly.

"Oh," mumbled Alistair, pride deflated. He should have known better, the council was usually reserved for important key players, not relatively new Warden Ensigns.

Duncan pat Alistair's back reassuringly. "Alistair, you already know most of the details, and I will inform you of the rest. You are a Grey Warden, and you still have an important role to play, even if you are not privy to the war council. Now, while Aedan and I -"

'_I take back what I thought earlier about the council and new ensigns. Aedan just became a Warden!' _Alistair could not help thinking glumly to himself while Duncan continued to speak. He kicked at the dusty ground with his metal boots.

"-are at the war council today, I would like for you to escort someone up to the follower camp a few miles north of here," Duncan finished the sentence.

The follower camp was where the spouses and children of soldiers resided if they had decided to follow the army. It was also where most informal army service providers serviced soldiers' needs whilst encamped, in particular selling goods or services that the military did not supply. Such needs and services included cooking, laundering, liquor, nursing, sutlery, and sexual services. Most service providers often traveled between the follower camp and the main army camp.

'_An escort?'_ Alistair frowned upon that thought. "With all due respect, Duncan…," he started to say.

Duncan raised a hand to silence Alistair. "This is no heedless task, Alistair. I would do it myself were my presence not needed at the war council. Since I can not, I would trust no one else but you to carry it out."

This made Alistair slightly feel better. Duncan's trust and approval meant a great deal to Alistair. In the six months since Duncan recruited him, Alistair had found a family in those he called brothers. Alistair owed Duncan a lot, and looked up to him as a father figure of sorts.

Sensing Alistair's silence as acquiescence, Duncan motioned for Alistair to follow him. They fell into step together, heading towards Duncan's tent, while the elder Warden continued, "Now, as you may have heard, Alain, Grigor, and I found a girl the other day while scouting for darkspawn in the Wilds. Scouts have reported substantial darkspawn troop movement in the south. All evidence points to an imminent battle, within the next day or so. I would have this young woman out of harm's way."

"This is about that young lady you found...the one who's lost her memory? I don't quite understand, Duncan. Do you mean to conscript her?" Alistair asked. What was so significant about this woman? The young man refused to believe the rampant rumors that scandalized those at Ostagar, that Duncan meant to take the girl as a lover. The possibility of conscripting this mysterious girl into the Grey Wardens was the only other logical reason that Alistair could think of at the moment, but then again, what good was a girl who had lost her memory?

The Warden Commander hesitated and lowered his voice when answering his protege. "Not… exactly. She's... different. The circumstances of our finding her were _peculiar,_ and she has displayed some… _curious_ abilities. She could be of use to the Wardens, but how I can not be sure at this time."

"What kind of abilities? Is she a mage, hiding from the Chantry?"

"I cannot reveal more to you at this time. And I know you were once a templar, Alistair, but Chantry business is not ours," Duncan said firmly. "And Alistair..."

"Yes, Duncan?" Alistair shifted a sideways glance at Duncan.

Duncan didn't know how else to say what he wanted to say without sounding callous. "She is under my personal protection. As such, I fully expect that you will respect my wishes to make her feel welcome, but at the same time, not burden her with any questions about her person," he instructed firmly.

"Ah. So I'm to be a silent escort, then. I got it," Alistair said, unable to help from scowling.

Duncan winced and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, squeezing it softly. "It's hard to explain, Alistair… Trust me when I say that for now, the less involved you are with her, the better. But still... be kind to her. For the time being, I need to have her out of harm's way. Now, I have already sent a message ahead to Madam Lucille in the follower camp. You are to bring the girl to her for safekeeping until-"

"Wait!" exclaimed Alistair incredulously. "I get the no questions part, but Madam Lucille! You mean, the woman who- who runs and oversees- all of the-?" Alistair could not manage to finish the sentence and started to blush profusely. Madam Lucille oversaw the ring of 'businesswomen' here at camp. "You're thinking about sending her there?"

Duncan could not help suppressing a wry smile. "Yes. And she will be safe there. Madam Lucille is fiercely protective when it comes to the treatment of her...charges. Do not fear. I have her explicit promise that no harm or advances of any kind will be made towards the girl." Then the Rivaini couldn't help pausing and glancing back at Alistair with twinkling, jestful eyes. "It was Grigor's idea, actually."

"Maker's breath!" sighed Alistair, following Duncan into the tent.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Alistair could not believe his eyes.

Words failed the young Grey Warden, and he wondered if he had somehow stepped into some kind of a dream the moment he entered Duncan's tent. He remained rooted to the spot while Duncan walked over next to her bedside. He stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at Duncan's ward.

It was _her_.

Diora.

Here.

The memory of her face and that day had etched itself into Alistair's mind, haunting him. Alistair's legs threatened to turn to mush beneath him. His fingers started to tingle and go numb; he flexed them several times. His heart pounded in his chest. The blood was rushing so loudly in his ears, Alistair couldn't make out the words Duncan was speaking to her. Alistair swallowed the lump in his throat. His words were barely more than a faint whisper.

"Diora! It's you!"

Diora gasped sharply. '_That voice!' _

From underneath a fringe of long dark lashes, Diora's blue-flecked grey eyes curiously peeked up at the young man who had entered the tent behind Duncan. Her lips turned up into a smile - a smile, Alistair noted, with a trick in it - a slow, budding smile with a sudden luminosity and rapture of fulfillment. For the first time since she stepped into this awful place, Diora actually felt… _happy._

Duncan's bewildered eyes followed Diora's gaze back to Alistair. He felt his breath catch in his throat as parts of Diora's story reverberated in his mind:

"_When I first got here, everyone thought I was a demon. I met a boy in the marketplace, who tried to help me hide from the templars. He told me his name was…."_

_"Alistair!" _Diora said breathlessly.

* * *

**_Preview:_** Part 1 of Diora's adventures in Ostagar. Awkward blushing scenes with Alistair and Aedan Cousland's introduction.


	6. Adventures in Ostagar

_**AN pt2: As of newest update on 6-12-14, we have gained some more readers! YAY! Rox Malone, Lillystar610, Kira Tamarion, cbosw5, MissLizziebeth, Aerith the Evenstar, and QueenOfTheHobbits, jennifer hawke, ljyang, sakura lisel, athyrarose, mskate, and sanni973.. *hugs* I appreciate everyone's support, and reviews are always nice, too!**_

_**For those new to BtRoR: A Girl in Ferelden, this is a high fantasy fairy tale, inspired by the adventures and romance of Dragon Age Origins.**_

_**Recap: After escaping Uldred, Diora emerges out of an Eluvian in the Kokari Wilds, where Duncan finds her. He brings her back to Ostagar, and she finds herself unexpectedly reunited with the same boy from the marketplace - Alistair!**_

_***WARNING: There's some psuedo-fluff at the beginning and sexually suggestive themes about halfway into the chapter.**_

**Chapter 5**

**Adventures in Ostagar**

Seconds went by, during which Diora and Alistair both stared wide-eyed at one another while Duncan shifted his gaze from Alistair to Diora and back again. Diora's eyes were surely playing tricks on her. She never thought she would ever see the boy from the marketplace ever again, yet here he was, standing right in front of her! Meeting him again was possibly the first happy thing that happened to her since she arrived in this alien world.

"You two...know each other?" Duncan's puzzled question finally broke the silence.

"Diora - how? Here? But-!" Bloody Maker! Why couldn't his lips form the words to the many questions he needed answers for. The tips of his ears started to burn. Then another detail, forgotten when he had stared into those bluish-grey eyes mere minutes ago, flashed brightly in his mind. Alistair turned to his mentor. "I thought - Duncan, I thought you said she lost her memory?"

Duncan groaned inwardly. He clearly had some explaining to do.

.oO0Oo.

Alistair's jaw dropped so hard and fast he thought for sure he had lost it in the Deep Roads somewhere."Wait - am I hearing things right? From a world beyond the Fade? That she came to Thedas through a _mirror_? That a blood mage summoned her here?!"

"I had hoped not to burden you with the truth, but since you two seem to have a history, already, it's only fair you know," Duncan replied calmly.

"But what about that story that you-you…!" Alistair waved his hand towards his mentor, unable to speak the rest of his thoughts aloud.

"Once I learned the truth about Diora, I spun the tale to protect her from the templars."

Alistair turned to Diora. His eyes were a mixture of shock, sympathy, and sheer disbelief. "Is… Is this true?"

Diora nervously bit her lips. "Y-yes," she whispered hoarsely."That's why...that day...in the marketplace, I… I was scared you might turn me in if you knew the truth, so I ran."

This was almost too much for Alistair. He silently pondered over the story for several minutes before raking a hand through his hair. He sighed. Duncan believed, and that was enough for Alistair. "So... six months ago, that day in the marketplace… when we met… that was why the templars were after you."

It was Diora's turn to be stunned. "WHAT?! What do you mean _six months ago?! _It's only been three, maybe four days at the most!"

Alistair's brows furrowed in confusion. "No. It was right after Duncan recruited me, and that was about six months ago."

Diora's expression changed from shock to pure and frantic horror. "But- how…? S_ix months_?"

"It's possible the mirror may possess magic that could have altered the fabric of time," Duncan suggested thoughtfully.

"Mom and Dad must be frantic about me! What if they think I'm dead?! What about Yale?! Forget escorting me to the follower camp, I have to get back to that mirror today and get back home as soon as possible!" Diora leaped into action. She snatched up her duffle bag and started marching out of the tent.

Alistair's arm shot out in between her and the tent's opening. "Wait, Diora! You can't leave. The Wilds are crawling with darkspawn. It's not safe," he told her.

"Alistair is right, Diora," Duncan agreed. "As I told you this morning, I will take you back to the mirror myself, but the darkspawn threat must be dealt with. We will proceed with the original plan. Alistair will escort you to the follower camp, where you will remain for the time being."

"But-" Diora started to protest. Her shoulders slumped in defeat when she saw the stern expression on Duncan's face. "Fine."

"There is also another matter that must be dealt with before Alistair can escort you to the follower camp," Duncan stated.

"What's that?" Diora asked.

Duncan's eyes skimmed over the clothing Diora had changed into that morning.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

'_Duncan has some strange ideas about disguises,'_ Diora thought irritably.

There _were_ legitimate reasons why Diora found herself dressed up as a hussy. She could leave camp in her own clothes - if she wanted the lynch mob after her. If she left the camp in armor, she might be mistaken for a deserter. Desertion was punishable by death, and Diora very much preferred to be alive, thank you. Mages robes had been out of the question. Thedas had weird rules about mages being guarded by templars at all time, and Diora wanted to avoid the templars at all costs. Civilian clothing was more difficult to come by in the base army camp. Luckily, one of Madam Lucille's girls here had offered to sell some of her extra clothes. They would have to do for now until Duncan could procure proper ladies attire for her.

The blue skirt was at least six inches too long. The white blouse, with its short puffy sleeves and scooped neckline was actually not so bad, even if it stretched a bit too fast across her bust. The upper bodice with an incredibly tedious enclosure system of hooks and laces, however, was a pain in the ass. She had, for the last several minutes, struggled to squeeze herself into that tight, gold trimmed, crimson velvet bustier with the attached overskirt. Her fingers just could not seem to make sense of all those tiny hooks.

She knew that the disguise Duncan had gotten for her and the story he cooked up about her being found with no clothing and having somehow lost her memory were all for her benefit. The people at Ostagar needed to pity her, not suspect the truth about her - that she was really a girl from an alternate universe.

So far, Duncan, Wynne, and Alistair were the only ones who knew the truth.

She felt her stomach flutter at the thought of Alistair. What an odd feeling!

Her heart had fair tripped over itself when she realized that Duncan's Alistair was _her_ Alistair. Well, not _her _Alistair… but the same Alistair who had helped her when she first arrived in Thedas. The way Alistair had stared at her with an intense and rather unsettling look in his gentle light brown eyes as Duncan reintroduced them….

'_No, not exactly light brown eyes - more like a hazel, brown with flecks of gold and even green in them at times.'_

Those eyes and that voice of his that was crisp and warm all at the same time had left her so tongue-tied that she flushed and barely managed to stutter a single word that morning. It didn't take Diora long to figure out that all these strange, unfamiliar, gushy feelings were signs that she was quickly developing a small crush on Alistair.

'_Stupid Diora. Anything between you two is impossible. He doesn't even exist in your universe. You're from the 21st century and he's from the Dragon Age.'_

That's right. _The Dragon Age._ That's what Diora was calling this place. From her conversations with Duncan and Wynne, Diora had found out that she had not been transported to the Middle Ages as she originally thought, but to the Dragon Age. She wasn't lost in Tolkien's Middle Earth, she was actually lost in a world called Thedas, in the country of Ferelden, specifically at a fortress called Ostagar. This was a place and time of magic, elves, and dwarves. Oh- and dragons, too. It couldn't be the Dragon Age without the dragons.

And Thedas had, at the moment, a particularly ominous and nasty sounding dragon….

She supposed that it was canon for every great epic fantasy to have its one great evil. The Wizarding World of Harry Potter had Voldemort, Middle Earth had Sauron, and Westeros had the White Walkers.

Thedas had… wait for it….

…

…

…

_THE ARCHDEMON._

A powerful and terrifying god of pure evil manifested in the form of a dragon. The Archdemon commanded a horde of vile creatures who unleashed waves of darkness and destruction across the land in what was known as a Blight. Duncan had called these creatures darkspawn.

It wasn't bad enough that Diora had ended up in a country at war with tainted creatures from Hell, she had to land in the war zone itself, right in the middle of the army camp. She had escaped execution from the templars, and then death at the hands of a lunatic mage, only to very possibly meet her end on some demonic darkspawn's blade. From what Duncan described, Diora hoped she would never have to face a darkspawn.

Duncan was the Commander of the Grey Wardens, an ancient order of special warriors dedicated to fighting the darkspawn across Thedas. This was good. Who better to protect her from these darkspawn than a Grey Warden, right? On the downside, this meant that Duncan's obligation to deal with the Blight outweighed all others, including helping Diora find her merry way home by means of an alternate-reality-time-hopping-magical mirror.

If the Blight were not such a brutally grim reality for her, Diora would have thought it all an excellent plot for a book or a movie, even an HBO series. She probably would have really enjoyed the story, too. Just curled up in her favorite reading chair or from behind the safety of the television screen, not as an actual character in the story.

She just hoped she would be safely back at home before the Archdemon decided to rear its ugly dragon head. Surely Duncan didn't mean to wait until _after_ the Blight before sending her home, right?

Of course not, right? Why, that -! It could literally take years! It had taken Harry seven - _SEVEN(!)_ years to kill Voldemort; and after five volumes of _A Song of Ice and Fire_, Westeros was still awaiting the advent of Azor Ahai and Lightbringer to win the fight against the Others. And if she were to go by Alistair's timeline of events, six months had already passed her by since her arrival to Thedas.

It hurt her head to think about it.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

While they waited for Diora to change, Alistair gave Duncan his account of his initial meeting with Diora. Alistair could hardly contain his excitement, something Duncan noted warily. Alistair was already more attached to this Diora than Duncan was comfortable with. He would need to have a talk with the young man.

Duncan thoughtfully stroked his beard with his thumb and forefinger. Odd…. Alistair's timeline of the story didn't match up with Diora's. Alistair claimed to have met her in Denerim _six months ago_. According to Diora's story, everything that had happened to her since she arrived in Thedas had occurred within the span of days, not months. He supposed it was another mystery that would have to be solved at a later time. He had more pressing matters to deal with right now, like the darkspawn and keeping the truth about Diora a secret.

When Diora finally stepped outside in the dress Duncan had found for her, Alistair suddenly found himself short of breath. For a brief moment, even Duncan had to reevaluate the situation. Looking the way she did, Diora might indeed attract more attention than not.

Alistair couldn't tear his eyes from her. That picture of sensual innocence was so unexpected that it instantly took on the quality of a dream. Her skin was positively translucent. The saturated dress hugged against her curves in all the right places. The shirt gently clung off her shoulders, while the red corset curved beneath and molded her perfectly round breasts, tightly cinched in her waist. The skirt effortlessly cascaded into a crumpled pool of royal blue at her feet. She stood still before him, her tensed, statuesque form the likeness of a virginal milkmaid drenched in loveliness.

Virgin though he might be, Alistair was certainly not completely innocent. His mind conjured up images of fingers caressing the graceful curvature of her neck and exploring the creamy swell above the scooped neckline. Nuzzling the hollow at her neck, kissing a trail across those dainty collar bones before nibbling gently on those delicate shoulders. Gathering her into his arms in all her beauty and ...

Of its own accord, Alistair's manhood sprang to life and strained uncomfortably against his chainmail. Bloody Maker, what was wrong with him?! And while he was standing in the middle of camp, surrounded by people, and in front of Duncan, for Andraste's sake!

"Well, what do you think, Alistair?" Duncan turned to the younger Grey Warden and had to do a double take.

The look on Alistair's face certainly spoke volumes, even if he couldn't form them into words at the moment. The young man's eyes were fairly eating up the young woman. Duncan didn't know whether to chuckle or be horrified. His lips twitched beneath his beard. Duty often prevented Duncan from the luxury of indulging in his sense of humor very often; seeing Alistair's reaction to Diora was a rare occasion to do so.

Duncan cleared his throat and nudged the younger Grey Warden. "Close your mouth, Alistair, do. And blink," he whispered underneath his breath.

But Alistair didn't, and he couldn't stop staring, either. When Duncan finally got Alistair's attention, the young man nodded. "Yes!" he screeched, his pitch higher than intended. He colored, and coughed once before saying, in a normal toned this time, "It - it's a fine dress."

"Then it's settled," Duncan said. He suggested that Diora and Alistair go an get some breakfast, and that before they left, he would meet them by the bonfire in front of King Cailan's tent in about an hour. While Diora slipped inside the tent to grab her pack, Duncan pulled Alistair aside. "Alistair, I know it's going to be difficult, especially since you two have met before, but remember what I said earlier. In fact, treat her... treat her like you would a new recruit," Duncan reminded him.

Alistair felt like Duncan just sucker punched him in the gut. Senior and junior members of the Wardens were always warned against the dangers of becoming too attached to a recruit. And if Diora's story was true, she didn't even belong to Thedas. He sighed and nodded. He was disappointed, yes, but he supposed there was nothing to be done about it. His duty had to come before his own desires and personal feelings, whatever they were, for Diora.

Still…. It just didn't seem fair.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Inside the tent, Diora carefully folded the last article of clothing and tucked it into her duffle bag. She knew it was silly, but she nonetheless took comfort in knowing that she at least had a toothbrush and clean underwear.

"Lady Diora, are you almost done in there? We should go and find some breakfast before we head out," she heard Alistair call from outside the tent.

"Finished! Be out in a minute!" she called back. She zipped up her pack and hoisted it up on her shoulder.

Something small and hard fell out of the duffle bag's side mesh pocket. It landed with a dull thud on the grass.

Diora looked down.

Her cell phone.

That's right! At that crucial moment when she had felt that Uldred's dagger piercing into her neck, her phone… The mage had thought the incoming phone call had been a spell she was casting.

Her eyes blurred with unexpected tears when she knelt down to pick it up. blinked away her tears, refusing to cry. Still, a single tear drop plopped onto the screen when she looked down at her phone. Diora saw one missed call from Mom and read a single text message from Aeries:

'_Diora, where are you?'_

Her legs gave way beneath her, and Diora fell back onto the cot. She felt faint and short of breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the sharp pain in her chest and the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Home seemed so impossibly far out of reach.

Would she ever find a way back?

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

A minute of waiting outside Duncan's tent had turned into several. After calling out with no answer, Alistair peeked inside. Diora was sitting on the cot, shoulders hunched over and a woebegone expression on her face. She looked so incredibly sad and helpless. Alistair's obligation to follow Duncan's instructions warred with his desire to do something to comfort her.

"Lady Diora? Is everything alright?" he asked, stepping into the tent.

Diora, lost in thoughts about home, jumped in her seat when he called her name. How long had Alistair been waiting for her outside while she had been sitting there, wallowing? She quickly stuffed her cell phone back into her duffle bag. "Oh! Alistair! I- I…!" her voice trailed off when she couldn't find the words to complete her thoughts. She stood up, only to fall forward when her feet tangled in her skirts.

In one fluid movement, Alistair instinctively reached out and caught her before she could fall. His arms slid up around her. The fingers in his left hand somehow lost themselves in her hair, while his right hand rested gently on the small of her back. Her body pressed into his. He was acutely aware of how petite she was and how perfectly every part of her molded up against him.

Breathing suddenly became difficult. Alistair had never been so physically close to a woman, much less a woman to whom he was attracted to as much as Diora. He instantly started panicking about how his body might react.

It also suddenly occurred to Alistair that she was holding him, too. Diora's shoulders curled inward even more, her arms tightened around him. She buried her face in his chest, and he worried that she might suffocate. He wheezed a bit and shifted slightly.

Then Alistair heard a sniffle. Her shoulders started twitching slightly. For several, painful seconds, he stood still, paralyzed with indecision. '_Oh, no…! Andraste help me, she's crying!' _His arms slowly slid down until they were wrapped loosely around her waist.

Diora questioned the sanity of randomly bursting into tears after being caught in the arms of some guy she barely knew, who could also be the cutest man she had ever met in her life. Seeing the missed call from Mom and reading Aeries's text message had unleashed the most excruciating wave of homesickness and loneliness she had experienced yet since she arrived in Thedas. What she wanted most right now was the comfort and hope that everything would be all right. Her brain just seized up the moment Alistair wrapped his arms around her. She knew his intention had only been to prevent her from falling, but it had been so easy for her to melt into his arms and let him hold her

At last, Diora drew a few hiccuping breaths. "I'm so sorry. You must think I'm such a big crybaby."

While she spoke, her eyes met his. Alistair saw something in them that was gut-wrenchingly familiar. Beneath the surface of her water opal eyes, beneath the bluster, he saw loneliness. It was the same expression Alistair had worn many times before he became a Warden, in the eyes of a little boy who used to gaze up at the stars from the hayloft in Redcliffe, and then staring back at him from his reflection when it seemed like the monastery walls were closing in on him. How terrible it must be for her, to be lost so far from home.

Diora laughed nervously. "Oops! And here I am, still holding you..." She let her arms fall to her side. "...and here you are still holding me!" she continued to babble.

Her comment startled him. Alistair immediately released his hold on her. For a moment, they both stood there, blushes spreading and wondering if the situation could not be more awkward.

"Look, Di- Lady Diora, I…" Alistair's mouth went dry. His lips could not form the words he wanted to say, that she was not alone, that he would be there for her, that she could count on him. Maker, he was really bad this!

Diora flashed Alistair a quick, oddly shy smile. The way she looked at him with those wide, bluish-grey eyes of hers, far different from the icy, condescending looks he was used to receiving from noblewomen, or those calculating, lascivious stares from the women giving out sexual favors at Ostagar and Denerim. Could it be that _maybe_ she…?

Alistair felt his insides turn to mush.

"We - um- we - we should just go," he suddenly blurted. The second the words came out, Alistair wanted to slap himself. Why did he have to be such a bumbling buffoon?! Why couldn't he be the kind of man who could pull off suave and casual flirty with the ladies? '_**We should just go?**_ _Alistair, you asinine fool! The only thing you can say is __**we should just go**__?!'_

'_Oh, God! I've scared him off. Now he thinks I'm a freak!'_ thought Diora, wishing the ground would just open up right now and swallow her.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Diora and Alistair waited together in the breakfast line with other soldiers and laborers around a small campfire. It was an awkward, silent affair, as each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

Diora worried she had alienated the only person in Thedas with whom she imagined she could be friends, while, Alistair mentally berated himself for being such a bumbling idiot. He doubted that a beautiful woman like Diora could ever find a hopeless man like him the least bit attractive, especially after that idiotic way he had reacted to her in the tent.

An elven lad with dark curls and bright blue eyes was at the main breakfast table, serving the men and women a helping of oatmeal from black kettle pot. Diora couldn't help smiling at the boy, who, despite the pointy ears, reminded her very much of her own brother Teddy. Her smile seemed to catch the elven boy off guard, and the spoonful of oatmeal in his hand missed Diora's bowl. Half of the oatmeal landed in her bowl and the other half smeared across her hand.

"Oh, miss, forgive me!" the horrified elf apologized profusely to her.

"No, it's fine," Diora tried to tell him.

The elven boy turned to grab a rag to clean up the mess and accidentally knocked the pot of oatmeal to the ground.

The sound of the kettle hitting the ground, along with the groans and murmurs from the people in line behind Diora, caught the attention of the head cook, a large, porky woman in an apron. When the cook saw the spilt oatmeal splashed across the grass, she marched over and roughly grabbed the elven boy by the arm.

"Lookit what you done 'ere, you stupid elf!" she shouted at him, swatting a wooden ladle across the back of his shoulders.

"M'am, I'm sorry, I am!" the elf cried.

"Please, it was an accident!" Diora tried to step in.

The cook swung the ladle and pointed it at Diora's face. "Stay out of this, you hussy! You're little better than an elf!"

"That's enough!" Alistair, who had been in line behind Diora, angrily snapped at the cook. "How dare you speak to her that way?!"

"Alistair, don't!" Diora hissed.

"C'mon, Diora," Alistair said. He grabbed her arm and led her away from the serving table.

Diora glanced back over her shoulder. "But-! What about the boy?" she asked. She was trying to balance her bowl of oatmeal and not trip at the same time, while not looking in the direction in which Alistair was pulling her.

"I'm sure he'll be all right," Alistair tried to reassure her.

Diora doubted that, but instead asked, "And your breakfast?"

Alistair reached into his knapsack and pulled out a biscuit and a wedge of cheese. He gave her a crooked smile. "See? You don't have to worry about me. I've got breakfast covered."

They sat down together on a log in front of a small campfire. In an effort to get her mind off about that poor elf and finding a way to get back home, Diora focused on the bowl in her hands. What she wouldn't do for a bowl of _real_ oatmeal right now, served with peaches and cream and a dusting of cinnamon, not the tasteless Dragon Age imitation glob of it that sat uneaten in her breakfast bowl.

And another dilemma.

_No spoon._

The oatmeal looked too thick for her to lift the rim of the bowl to her lips and sip it. How attractive would she look to Alistair if she scooped it up with her hands? Or lapped it up like a dog?

Then from out of nowhere, a real dog - a giant, slobbering thing - came sprinting at her at Alistair. Diora saw the massive, four-legged creature dashing towards them first. She instinctively inched closer to Alistair and placed a nervous hand on Alistair's arm. "Alistair, is it just me, or is that giant dog heading right towards us?"

Alistair, barely recovered from the shock of having her fingers pressing into his arm, glanced up. "Hey… I recognize that dog. That's - hey! No! No, no! Mabarki! Down! Down!"

The bowl of oatmeal flew into the air and harmlessly fell down to the ground moments later, all but forgotten. Diora shrieked and the dog barked, and jumped, and wagged its tail around her excitedly. The hound tackled her to the ground amidst an affectionate round of head butting, nuzzling, and licking. "Alistair, help me! Eek!"

"I'm trying! Maker's breath! Mabarki! You blasted dog-!"

Diora felt someone who was not Alistair come up from behind her and slip their arms underneath her armpits. Said unknown someone hoisted her off the ground. Frazzled, but unharmed - dog drool all over her face, but unharmed - annoyed, but unharmed, Diora stepped away from the stranger and tried to wipe the dog breath off her face. "I assume you are the owner of this dog?" she demanded, whipping around to face the stranger.

She stared, open mouthed with shock.

'_H - he- he could be - B-bu-but-! This is the __**Dragon Age**__, not __**Disney's The Little Mermaid**__!'_

Laughing eyes of the purest cornflower blue. A square jaw. A chiseled chin that could cut granite. Thick, jet black hair, complete with a sophisticated, side-swept part that looked absolutely perfect from any angle. A tall, handsome stranger, perhaps a couple of inches taller than Alistair. Like Alistair, he also wore a suit of armor, complete with sword and shield.

_PRINCE ERIC._

_In the flesh._

_And like 1000 times sexier than the fake princes at Disneyworld. _

Diora blushed profusely. Heavens! What was it with Thedas and its swoonworthy men who had somehow all hit the genetic jackpot? First Alistair and now Prince Eric! And Dragon Age's Prince Eric even has a slobbering dog, just like Disney movie Prince Eric. To see his doppelganger standing there in front of her… She suppressed the instinct to squeal fan-girlishly. _The Little Mermaid_ was one of her favorite Disney movies, second only to _Beauty and the Beast._

"I- I-" Diora sputtered.

"Forgive me for being so forward, but please do not devastate me so early in the day by denying me the pleasure of your name, m'lady," the blue-eyed stranger greeted Diora. He cast an admiring smile down upon her.

"Lady Diora, this is Aedan Cousland, a fellow Grey Warden. Aedan, this is the Lady Diora, Duncan's ward," Alistair begrudgingly introduced them to one another. He couldn't help the knee-jerk spasm in his right eyebrow when Aedan Cousland gallantly bowed during the introductions. Alistair clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the pair. He knew that if it ever came down to winning a lady's affections, there was no way he could compete with Aedan's charms.

"Ah! So you're the girl Duncan found, the belle of the camp. And may I say the rumors of your beauty do not do you justice," Aedan remarked. He took her hand and kissed it.

Standing next to Aedan, an impressive, sinewy mastiff hound with a black snout and tawny coat studied Diora with remarkably intelligent eyes. Its ears perked up, and it cocked its head slightly up at her. It snorted happily and started bouncing up and around her in circles.

Aedan laughed, and dropped Diora's hand to hold back his hound. "This is Mabarki. He is very sorry for his outburst earlier. But can you really blame him for his fondness of exceptionally beautiful ladies?" he teased, affectionately scratching the dog behind the ears.

Diora couldn't help smiling. Aedan had just paid her an amazing compliment when he called her beautiful, and she was still absorbing how nice it felt. She instantly liked this Aedan Cousland. The words 'friendly' and 'charming' and even 'playboy' came to her mind when she gazed at him, but the pleasant way he spoke to her instantly put her at ease. Aedan did not seem to invoke those uncertain, foreign, school-girl crush feelings in her that Alistair so often brought on.

Aedan confidently placed both hands on his hips, easily engaging Diora in small talk. Alistair felt a twinge of jealousy flare up in him. He hated to admit it, but Aedan Cousland certainly had a way with the ladies.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

As it turned out, Aedan had also been on his way to meet Duncan at the bonfire. The four of them - Diora, Alistair, Aedan, and Skylos - ended up making the trek together. Diora, skirts bunched up high in front of her so that she would not trip over them as she walked, marveled at the glory of her surroundings.

It was like a Hollywood movie set!

The fortress of Ostagar was an impressive and beautiful place. Majestic, snow-capped glacial horns jutted into the heavens. Massive white towers overlooked a steep gorge. Off in the distant valley, a river meandered about the verdant vale like a snake. Here and there, dots of water speckled the landscape. The lure of the aerial gales swept across the green valley and brushed through the bowing pine trees with howling song.

Diora ran a hand along one of the many marble statues they passed by. The sun-kissed stone was smooth and warm beneath her hand. Unfortunately, despite the natural glory around Diora, it was impossible for her to ignore the signs of war. Off in the distance, Diora watched men and women practice throwing spears at targets. She heard the clinging and clanging of metal blades as the soldiers sparred with one another to her left. To her right, a row of archers plucked away at their bows, testing their shooting skills. A group of warriors painted a pungent smelling paint on their dogs. The scent of paint, burning campfires, dust, and oiled leather permeated in the air.

From time to time, Mabarki pattered ahead of the group until he disappeared. Then the hound circled back through the crowd of people and caught its master unaware from behind with a playful nudge of the nose. It played this game several more times, each time alternating between tagging Aedan and Diora.

Alistair, with Diora's satchel slung over his shoulder, silently watched and wondered what was Mabarki up to with that game of his. Was the mabari trying to play matchmaker? A mabari was smart, but it could not be _that_ smart, right?

"So Lady Diora, how does a lady such as yourself find herself in the middle of a war camp?" Aedan asked casually, after their conversation had progressed from his mabari and then moved on to the weather.

Diora stopped in her tracks and started coughing.

"Aedan, it's best we do not burden the Lady Diora with such questions. You may not have heard, but Lady Diora has unfortunately lost her memory and will be under Duncan's protection until she has fully recovered," Alistair stated, shooting Aedan a scathing look.

Diora, eyes bulging now, was still in the middle of her gagging fit.

"Of course. How could I forget. Lady Diora, please forgive my impertinence," apologized Aedan.

Diora was now simply gasping for air. She cleared her throat. "Whew! I think I must've swallowed a fly or something! Anyway, we should… um… we should just go. Is that Duncan's bonfire over there! It is, isn't it!"

Aedan watched Diora quickly walk up ahead of them. He furrowed his brows. "Curious..." he mused.

"What's curious?" Alistair asked.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just wondering how she ended up in the Wilds. She really doesn't remember anything at all?"

"Look, just stop pestering me with questions about her. I don't know anymore than you do," Alistair replied testily.

Aedan's keen senses had not missed a telltale twitch in Alistair's right eye. It was the same telltale twitch Aedan had seen flick across Alistair's expression a few days ago when Aedan had tried pressuring Alistair to tell him more about the Joining. Alistair knew something about the girl...

With new eyes, Aedan curiously watched Diora walk towards the burning bonfire in front of King Cailan's tent. He scratched his head.

Something about that girl…. She was dressed in commoner's clothes, yet she spoke and carried herself like a well-bred maiden of noble bearing. She lacked the higher-than-thou-art attitude so characteristic of the higher ranks that Aedan disdained, which, in Aedan's eyes, made her quite charming, actually. Odd… He did not recognize her from any of Ferelden's noble families, not even from one of the minor noble families. Aedan was certain that she was not a commoner - that hand he placed a kiss on this morning had been smooth and untouched by the hardships of labor. She did not appear to be a fighter, either, so Duncan could not be planning on recruiting her into the Wardens.

How did such a sheltered young maiden find her way into the Wilds? And why was Duncan going through all this trouble protecting her?

The Lady Diora had a secret, and Aedan was suddenly very interested in figuring out what it was.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

"That's Duncan's bonfire, but where is Duncan?" Alistair asked no one in particular when they reached the meeting point.

"We're a little early. Maybe he's not here yet," Aedan suggested.

_CRACK!_

The resounding clap of a swinging whip broke the ambient buzz and drone of soft conversation, barking dogs, ringing metal, and strummed bows. And continued, accompanied by the cries of a child, the intake of breath from a crowd.

Diora lifted her head towards the sound and saw a group gathering not far up ahead, in front of a cluster of pine trees and a group of colorful tents. "What's going on over there?" she wondered aloud.

"Lady Diora, perhaps...we should stay...," Alistair's voice trailed off. She had ignored him, of course, and was already making her way over to the gathering crowd. Alistair's eyes met Aedan's, and the two men shrugged at each other before following Diora.

Diora wormed her way through the crowd and gasped

The elven boy from breakfast this morning.

He was crawling on the ground. Blood from the raw gashes on his back tinted the shredded remains of his shirt a bright red color. Diora winced when a young man with a cruel mouth lashed out again at the boy with a whip.

_CRACK!_

"_What was his crime?"_

"_I heard the elf spilled over a whole pot of oatmeal this morning while serving breakfast. His master, Lord Vaughan went into a rage!"_

"_Maker! Punishment may be due, but a public flogging over spilled oatmeal?!"_

_CRACK!_

"Let this be a lesson, _elf_!" shouted the man Diora suspected was Lord Vaughan.

A righteous fury threatened to boil over within Diora's being. The hatred in Lord Vaughan's voice when he had spat out the word 'elf.' That, the way the cook had addressed her this morning, and how these people were just standing here… watching and doing nothing. On a whim, Diora turned to the bystander beside her, a dumpy woman with lackluster mousy brown hair. "Excuse me, m'am, are all elves servants here?"

The woman had the gall to be offended. "Elves are considered Low Freemen. And they fare better here in Ferelden than they would in most countries!"

"Lady Diora, this is not a place for a lady!" Aedan whispered, having just caught up to Diora.

Alistair appeared next to him. "Aedan's right. We should go!"

Diora looked up at them in disbelief. "It's the boy from this morning, Alistair! We have to help him!" she cried. She pointed at the elven boy as the whip whistled down again.

_CRACK!_

Alistair stared at her, torn by the plea in her eyes and his reluctance to get involved. "Diora, it's not a Grey Warden's place to interfere, especially in the dealing of nobility" he tried to reason with her.

"Are you the same Alistair I met in the marketplace or not? You're just going to stand by and let this poor kid get beat up?! And what about you, Aedan?!" Diora demanded, her voice getting louder and higher-pitched with each question.

How could these people just stand by and watch this happen?!Sure, maybe the set of 21st century code of morals and ethics, civil rights, and equality for all imbued in her did not exactly line up with the harsh reality of the world into which she had been swept. Still, she couldn't just let this poor elven boy suffer! Especially not after the horror she had endured at Uldred's hands, not after Caras!

"Fine! If you two won't stop this, then I will!" she told her Warden companions.

"Diora - no! Don't-!" Alistair grabbed a hold of her arm and attempted to muffle her mouth.

But it was too late.

"STOP IT!" Diora screamed.

Vaughan's arm paused in mid air. He glanced around, his cold eyes narrowing as they scanned the silent crowd. "Who said that?"

"I did!" Diora declared. She exhaled angrily. She wormed out of Alistair's hold on her arm, ignored Aedan's warning to stay put, and tore the bottom of her skirt out from Mabarki's clenched jaw. She gathered up her skirt and stepped into the small circle, placing herself in between Vaughan and the elven boy.

"Please, miss! What are you doing? Leave, before Lord Vaughan punishes you, too!" the boy cried weakly.

"Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you," Diora reassured him.

Vaughan, arm still raised, narrowed cold eyes at the girl who dared to go up against him. "What's this? You dare to stand up to me? Do you have any idea who I am?"

Diora's stormy eyes locked with Vaughan's gleaming glare. "I don't care who the hell you are, just leave this boy alone!"

A collective gasp went through the throng of people. By this time, those who had previously been going about their business now stopped to see what the ruckus was all about. The growing crowd continued to gather, stunned by this girl who had burst out of nowhere to protect a mere elf.

Vaughan's nostrils flared at the girl's challenge. The whip in his hand snapped into the air as his arm descended upon her. "You bitch-born whore, if you love them knife-ears so much, then you can suffer with them!"

_'Oh, SHIT! I didn't think he would actually-!'_ Diora squeezed her eyes shut and cringed, curling her shoulders around, bracing for the -

_CRACK!_

But the blinding flash of pain Diora had expected to feel across her body never came.

Instead, a pair of strong arms had enveloped her in a tight embrace. Diora heard someone's ragged breathing beside her own. Felt the scruff of a day's worth of stubble scratch lightly across her forehead. She opened her eyes and gasped.

Alistair's armor and the shield strapped on his back had deflected the force of the whip as it lashed across him, but the tip of the whip had licked up across the left side of his face. He could already feel the stinging welt rising up beneath his left eye. A few drops of blood oozed down his cheek. Holy Maker, that had hurt! A part of him was even vain enough to hope it would not scar. It probably wouldn't, if he got it to a healer instead of letting it heal on its own.

"Alistair...! OHMIGOD!" Diora was horrified. A tremulous breath parted from Diora's lips. He had gotten hurt because of her! He stared at her with a pained expression, and a plethora of unexplained, aching, emotions that surged up from deep within her. Why did seeing him that way hurt her so? She blinked back unbidden tears. She suddenly wanted to hide her face from him, but her hands were still trapped between their bodies. Instead, she buried her face into his chest. "You're so stupid! Why did you do that?" she whispered in a sobbing voice.

"Of all the reactions I had imagined from you, 'you're stupid' was not one of them," Alistair whispered endearingly into her hair. It felt soft and silky beneath his lips. His heart swelled with relief. Thank the Maker he had gotten there in time!

_"His shield! A griffon! He's a Grey Warden!"_

_"If that's a Grey Warden, then the girl! Could she be...!"_

_"The Warden Commander's ward!"_

_"Is she the one they found in the Wilds? Found without a stitch of clothing on, I heard."_

_"Must be why she's dressed in 'em streetwalker's togs."_

Vaughan's eyes skittered nervously across the whispering crowd. He, like everyone else at Ostagar, had heard the rumors of the Grey Warden's new ward. He also knew that the king held the Wardens in high regard, and he even began to wonder if he would be reprimanded for attempting to strike this girl, if she was the mysterious ward.

Then as if things could not have gotten any worse for Vaughan, a voice rang out:

"HALT! In the name of His Royal Majesty, King Cailan!"


	7. The King's Favor

**Chapter Six**

**The King's Favor**

"HALT! In the name of His Royal Majesty, King Cailan!"

Diora gasped. '_The king…!'_

Alistair groaned. '_Maker, not the king…!'_

"Alistair… you're - squeezing me!" Diora's muffled voice came from within Alistair's arms.

"Right! Sorry!" Alistair quickly slid his arms from around her. He didn't even have time to be embarrassed. The sheer horror of being caught in such a compromising situation by King Cailan was the only thing on Alistair's mind. He would rather be caught sleepwalking buck naked, or risk facing a dozen darkspawn on the battlefield by himself.

It wasn't everyday that Alistair got to meet and greet his older half-brother.

In fact, he avoided it if at all possible.

Especially in public.

Alistair's relationship with his half-brother had always been… complicated. Born a bastard son to the late King Maric, it had always been made clear that there was no room for Alistair to lay claim on the throne. Alistair's birthright was a secret. Of course, Cailan knew of Alistair's existence, though the king never officially recognized Alistair as anything but a mere royal subject, when and if he even did that. Alistair was fine with that - he didn't want official recognition or a royal title, he was satisfied being a Grey Warden. But Alistair wished now more than ever that he wasn't Cailan's half-brother. He couldn't shake off the feeling that his association to Cailan might jeopardize Diora's well-being.

Diora noticed Alistair visibly stiffen. She saw his curl his hands into knuckle-white fists. '_He's nervous! Why?' _she wondered. '_Did I… Is he going to get into trouble with the king because of me?'_

A hush came over the crowd. The bystanders slowly shifted and bowed their heads low in show of respect as the royal retinue paraded forward into the center of the circle. Two marching soldiers, each holding up a banner of a two upright hounds in front of a golden shield, parted ways and a figure whom Diora assumed to be the king stepped in between them. He wore a resplendent golden armor with regal purple trimmings. Aside from that, Diora couldn't make out any of his other features because he was wearing a full face helmet.

And Duncan was there, right next to the king, walking up to them as well. Shock, then concern, and then disapproval flitted across his swarthy features when he realized that the cause of this very public spectacle were none other Diora and Alistair.

The censoring look on Duncan's face was enough to make Diora's stomach roll and Alistair's breath hitch slightly. Diora now had to worry that in addition to Alistair, she might possibly have gotten the only thing standing between her and the lynch mob - Duncan - in trouble as well. This was never her intention when she jumped in to help the little elven boy.

The look Duncan had on his face was far preferable to the dark, glowering look the long-faced, black-haired man standing on the other side of the king shot at them. He must be an important man, to be standing at the king's right hand. He wore a massive, silver armor. His grey eyes were dark, so dark that they were almost black, and his mouth formed a thin, angry line. What was his problem? Diora hadn't done anything to offend _him_, too, had she?

'_Maybe he didn't get enough sleep last night,'_ Diora guessed, judging by the dark circles under those greyish-black eyes. She hoped all that hate she saw in his eyes wasn't directed solely at her.

Alistair followed the crowd's suit and silently bowed before the king. Once he had knelt down on the ground in obeisance, he realized that Diora was still standing up. In fact, she was the only one standing up. What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she curtsying? He tugged lightly on her skirt.

"Diora, curtsy!" he hissed quietly.

Diora jolted to a start. '_That's right! You're in the presence of a king! You need to curtsy, you ninny!'_ Diora squelched the urge to facepalm and slowly lowered her head and bent her knees in what she hoped was a perfectly ladylike curtsy...

_THEN SHE TRIPPED ON THAT DAMNED DRESS AND TUMBLED FORWARD RIGHT INTO THE KING!_

Pandemonium broke out in the campground. The dogs started barking wildly. Soldiers started shouting excitedly. Guards rushed over to aide their king. For the throng of people at Ostagar, this was the most excitement they had seen since, well… since they got here.

King Cailan, who had not been expecting the sudden blunt force of someone's head butting into his gut, stumbled backwards a few steps before falling flat on his bottom. He felt the breath knock of him. He attempted to rise back up, only to immediately roll onto his back in agony when the young woman landed on him.

Diora's arms flailed in midair before she ungracefully landed into a heap on top of the king. The king's visor had been knocked back, and she caught a glimpse of shocked, baby blue eyes before a pair of hands dug painfully into her ribs and tossed her aside into the dirt.

His Majesty's disoriented eyes looked up into a pair of frightened, bluish-grey ones mere inches from his face. It was not the hand of the Maker striking him down, merely a young lady - or rather, a _lovely_ young lady with plush lips and cascading dark hair that veiled over him like a flowing curtain. This was certainly a pleasant surprise! Where had she come from?

"CAILAN!" shouted the glowering, black haired man. He scrambled down beside the king and roughly pushed Diora aside before pulling the king to his feet.

"Alistair! Duncan! Ohmigod! The king! I- I-!" Diora sputtered as both men reached down and lifted her up. She wondered if a nuclear bomb hadn't somehow detonated above her head and blown her up into smithereens, she was so shell-shocked at what just occurred. '_I'm going to lose my head for sure! I know it!'_

Sure enough, the dark-eyed man pulled out a giant sword and pointed it at her. "YOU! How dare you?! She attempted to harm His Majesty! Guards! Arrest her!"

"Eek! But- but it was an accident!" Diora could not help squealing out. She instantly turned to Alistair and clutched at his chest. She felt him tightened his arms around her and burrowed deeper into his muscular frame.

"Your Majesty! Teryn Loghain, please!" Duncan implored, trying to step in between Teryn Loghain and Diora.

"Silence, Warden!" the man whom Duncan had referred to as Teryn Loghain ordered.

Then, to the surprise of everyone, King Cailan started laughing. He brushed the dust off himself and waved his hands up in the air. "It's all right, everyone! Your king is safe! All is well. Stand down, Loghain, and for Maker's sake, put your sword away. Can't you see how you've terrified the poor girl with your battle cry?"

A unanimous sigh of relief washed through the crowds, including Alistair and Duncan. Alistair loosened his hold on Diora. He sighed deeply. He wondered what he would have done if the guards had tried to take her away. From the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Aedan still standing in the crowd, his arms crossed and an indecipherable look on his face. Alistair's gaze then moved over to the Grey Warden Commander, who was rubbing his forehead wearily.

"Cailan…!" hissed Loghain.

The king pat Loghain on the back. "It's all right, Loghain. This one is too pretty to be arrested. Besides, if we arrested every woman who fell upon the glorious sight of me, I daresay we wouldn't have a single free woman left standing in Ferelden."

Loghain sheathed his sword, but continued to glare at the wardens and the girl standing next to them. "Be thankful His Majesty has a weakness for beautiful women, or you would be on your way to the stockyard," he grumbled.

Cailan took in the scene around him. He saw Lord Vaughan, whip in hand, and the bloodied elf on the ground. Then there was Alistair, with his arms around that pretty chit. And... "Maker, Alistair, what happened to your cheek?"

Alistair winced. Of course Cailan would ask that! He gingerly poked at the wound. "Oh?! This- well, I..." his voice trailed off.

"Will someone care to explain what has happened here? " Cailan demanded.

Loghain cleared his throat. "Cailan, perhaps the crowd-"

"Of course, Loghain." Cailan nodded. He waved his arms into the air. "People of Ferelden, do we not have a battle with the darkspawn to prepare for? I command all but these Wardens and those immediately involved with this incident to go about their business. I command you! Go on, now!"

The people slowly and reluctantly dispersed until it was just the king and his retinue, along with Diora, Alistair, Duncan, Aedan, Skylos, Lord Vaughan and his men, and the elven boy who was still lying half-unconscious on the ground. The king bent his head forward to remove his helmet. He slowly shook his head free of it, and the long strands of his hair blew in the gentle gale that suddenly gusted through the camp.

Diora's knees went weak. She entered a trancelike state in which everything suddenly played out before her in slow motion. Long, luscious, butter-blond locks haloed by the sun... Tossing gently in the wind... Floating down to frame a boyishly handsome face with - _yes_ \- those startling baby blue eyes she had seen earlier through the flipped-up visor.

'_Oh. My. GOD!'_ her mind screamed. She was staring at a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Chris Hemsworth from _Thor_, only he was younger, blonder, and _way_ sexier. If she weren't still holding on to Alistair for support, she probably would've have collapsed to the ground in a drooling heap of stupor.

It _had_ to be something in Thedas's water. How else could she explain meeting not just one, but three handsome men in the course of the afternoon?! Never in her life had she ever been so easily disarmed by good looking men. This never happened at home.

When Duncan had spoken of the king who would lead the troops into battle against the darkspawn, Diora had expected a wizened, older man with a beard, not- not-!

"The king of Ferelden is this... _Beautiful…! Young…! Man...?! _"

Diora had no idea she had breathlessly spoken her thoughts aloud until Chris Hemsworth aka King Cailan threw back his head and laughed heartily. Her cheeks flushed and burned so hot, she was surprised she didn't just melt into a puddle of goo right then and there.

"M'lady, you do wonders for your king's ego!" King Cailan said pleasantly. His voice held a note of amusement.

Duncan stepped forward. "Your Majesty, may I present to you my ward, Diora. And please also accept my sincerest and most humble apologies for her earlier actions. I thank you for your kindness in overlooking h-"

"Have no fear, Duncan. I haven't had that much excitement in Ostagar since... well, since we've arrived."

Lord Vaughan stepped forward. "Your Majesty, if I may explain. That elf is my servant. This - this _woman,_" he pointed at Diora, "and her Warden companion here interrupted me while I was exercising my rights punishing him."

Cailan was only half listening to Vaughan. The king's attention was more on the pretty chit Duncan had called Diora. He watched Diora pull away from Alistair and run to a small, crumpled figure lying on the ground.

Diora knelt down next to the elven boy. In the madness that had ensued, she had almost forgotten the reason for the madness in the first place. She gently touched a hand to his cheek. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Oh, m'lady, you shouldn't have!" the elf whispered back, tears in his eyes.

The picture painted before him of the beautiful madonna with her flowing hair and crumpled skirts bending over the injured elven child struck a tender chord in Cailan, the likes of which he had not experienced in a long, long time. Cailan felt like he must be dreaming, a dream he had often as a child and far too infrequently as a man. A bittersweet dream that left him feeling warm and loved. A lovely, spirited woman who readily showered him with kisses, who laughed merrily as she embraced him in her arms, who read him stories while they basked together in sunlight amidst the rose garden during the warm summer months.

No, not entirely a dream, but a faded memory.

This Diora… When Cailan looked at her, why was he suddenly reminded of his mother, Queen Rowan?

Over twenty years had passed since Queen Rowan's death. Cailan was not even four years old when his mother succumbed to a wasting illness even the Circle of Magi could not cure. Somehow, Diora brought all pain and joy of Cailan's buried, childhood memories and longings to a rushing swell, surging up to the surface.

Cailan tried to keep his voice calm and authoritative as possible when he asked Diora, "So you stepped in to stop this elf from being punished?"

Diora nodded."Yes. The punishment just didn't fit the crime, sir. I mean, your Lordship? Your Highness?" she guessed hopefully, another crimson flush washing across her embarrassed face at her obvious blunder.

"You should address the king as _Your Majesty_, young lady," Teryn Loghain said with disdain in his voice.

"You and that Warden had no right! That elf is my servant, and I may punish him however it pleases me. Your Majesty, I demand that they-" Vaughan started to say.

Cailan glared incredulously at Vaughan. "You _demand?_ You dare to demand your _king?_" he asked in a quiet, ominous tone.

Vaughan blanched visibly. "Your Majesty, f-forgive me! I only meant…" his voice trailed off. The young lord clenched his fists, silently cursing the girl who put him in this position.

Duncan shot Alistair a disapproving look. "Alistair, is this true? Did you allow Diora to interfere when she shouldn't have, after I specifically asked you to look after her?"

Diora stood up and walked up next to Alistair. She couldn't - just _couldn't_ let Alistair take the fall for her. Not after he'd already gotten hurt. "Don't blame Alistair! I-"

"Lady Diora, don't," Alistair interrupted her, pulling her back behind him.

"No!" Diora slapped his arm away. She jabbed a stunned Alistair in the chest_._ "Don't _you_ interrupt me, Alistair! It's rude!" Then she faced Duncan and the king. "This was _my_ fault. Your Majesty, Duncan, it was all me. Alistair only got involved to protect me! I- I- if you need to blame this on anyone, bla-"

"There, you see, Your Majesty. She admits her fault," Vaughan jumped in, sounding triumphant.

Diora scowled at Vaughan. "Didn't you just hear me tell Alistair it was rude to interrupt? Anyways, what kind of a man are you, beating up helpless little boys and defenseless women?!"

"You! How dare you! And for an elf!" Vaughan sneered at her. He didn't like being told off by a woman.

"You're disgusting. When people like you cheapen the lives of one group of people, they cheapen lives of all, even their own!" Diora said with devastating effect. Her eyes were glowing with anger and her cheeks colored from exertion. Her chest heaved heavily, and she suddenly wished that damn corset were not so constricting.

After some time had passed, Teryn Loghain spoke up. "Young lady, while your conviction is admirable, what you have just spoken could be considered treason against the laws of this land and slander against His Majesty," he warned.

"Actually, Loghain, I'm very interested in hearing what else the Lady Diora has to say," Cailan stated, mixed admiration and curiosity in his voice.

Diora hands nervously wrung at the fabric of her skirts."I'm sorry, Your Majesty! I- I only meant-! I just couldn't stand to see the boy suffer, e-even if he's an elf. And I know I'm a nobody here, and maybe it's not my place to really say, but… But- It- it's the king's job to look after the welfare of _all_ his subjects... right? I truly didn't mean to offend! I- I'm just going to shut up now," she whispered, her voice on the verge of tears, hoping she did not just royally (no pun intended) fuck this up. '_Stupid, stupid, stupid, Diora! This is the Dragon Age. The laws of the 21st century don't apply here…. It's definitely the executioner's block now…!'_

To say that Duncan was impressed was an understatement. He never would have thought that the cowering, crying girl from last night and the one before him were one and the same. She had the courage to stand up for what she believed in and displayed wisdom with her words. With those characteristics, along with her penchant for protecting the innocent, she sounded less like the general populace and more… well, more like a Warden. The Grey Wardens ignored a recruit's racial, social, national, and even criminal background if they deemed the person valuable in terms of character or ability. Duncan could not fault her for trying to do the right thing, despite his consternation over the situation, and decided that perhaps now was the best time to step in and intervene on her behalf.

"Well, then," Duncan said, "Your Majesty, it seems my young charge has been unreasonable-"

"But-!" Diora exclaimed.

At the same Alistair spoke up, "Duncan, please-!"

All three were silenced by the king, who drew up his right hand. "I believe I understand perfectly what has happened here..." Cailan paused for dramatic effect. The sun glinted off his resplendent armor, giving the young king the appearance of a golden adonis. When he had everyone's eyes and ears anticipating his next words, he continued, "It seems that the Lady Diora _has_ indeed been unreasonable and interfered in matters in which she had no right to do so. As such, her punishment -"

Lord Vaughan's lips curled into a smile.

Alistair's nostrils flared in heightening anxiety.

Diora bit her lips.

Duncan held his breath.

All the while, Teryn Loghain, Aedan, and Mabarki observed silently in the background.

"- shall be to take this unruly elven boy as her own servant, in hopes that may she learn herself as she teaches him how he may properly serve his betters," Cailan finished stating.

Diora was speechless. Elated. She wasn't going to lose her head, or even be imprisoned. King Cailan, the _KING_ of Ferelden himself, had just bestowed an _enormous_ favor upon her. "Y-yes! Yes! Yes, Your Majesty! And I promise to learn! I promise! Thank you!" she cried when she finally found her voice, trying her best not to sound so happy. She clasped her hands together and tipped her head in thanks over and over.

The king turned his attention over to Vaughan.

Vaughan saw King Cailan's eyes gaze on him expectantly, he and bowed in obeisance. "I trust in Your Majesty's wisdom and thank you humbly for relieving me of such an ill-tempered servant," he simply said before glaring up at the girl. Vaughan had at first reveled at the prospects of her being punished, only to be thwarted at the final moment. She had cost him the favor of the king, as well as a servant, and there was nothing he could do about it!

Diora watched Lord Vaughan march indignantly away, as if he were crushing something beneath his feet. She drew a long breath before turning her attentions on the elven boy. "What's your name?" she asked, kneeling down next to him.

The elven boy returned her smile with one of his own. "It's Leyonir, m'lady. My name is Leyonir."

"Leyonir, you don't have to worry about that man hurting you anymore," Diora whispered. "Did you hear? The king said that you are _my _servant now. Can you stand?"

Leyonir started to cry tears of gratitude. "Oh, m'lady! The Creators themselves must have sent you! There's nothing I wouldn't do for you! Just tell me and I'll do it."

With Alistair and Aedan's help, Leyonir rose to his feet. Duncan pointed towards the mage encampment, suggesting that they take Leyonir to see Wynne. He would follow shortly.

Diora's eyes met Cailan's one last time. Her already rosy cheeks deepened into a crimson red, and she couldn't help bashfully looking away before following her companions. It would have all looked rather charming, had she not suddenly tripped on those damned skirts. Thankfully, she regained her balance before falling flat on her face.

Cailan shook his head in wonder and suppressed the urge to burst out laughing. This Diora… She was different. He admitted that the girl was pleasing to look upon, especially in that dress she so easily tripped in, but he would not have considered her a great beauty at first glance. Compared to the brilliant sunrise of Queen Anora and the silver moonlight of Empress Celene, Diora shone softer, like the golden twinkle of a star in the midnight sky.

Perhaps it was the way she had thrown herself in harm's way to defend a servant from being unjustly punished - and an _elf_ at that. Maybe it was the sheer pluckiness she displayed standing up to Duncan, Alistair, and Vaughan, and then speaking her mind in front of everyone. All too often, Cailan found himself surrounded by people who hid their true intents behind a mask of flattery and formality. Women sought his favor using artful contrivance and feminine wiles. Cailan highly doubted that Diora could be one of those vapid women who bored him with frivolous chatter, nor did she appear to be like those scheming women who played their tedious games with him and sought him out for their own personal gain. He had plenty of experience with those types of women, especially the scheming type - he had married one, for Maker's sake!

His Majesty the King also wondered why Duncan had taken a sudden interest in Diora. The Grey Warden Commander had referred to the pretty chit as a ward, not as a recruit. Cailan sensed there was more to her than Duncan had originally let on.

Loghain grit his teeth. He had seen this wandering look on the Cailan's face before. Loghain knew what usually followed, but he had always turned a blind eye. Always. For the sake of Ferelden. For the sake of an old friendship. For the sake of a long lost love. For the sake of his daughter, Anora. '_But Cailan has started to become more reckless and bold in his indiscretions. Here is the proof! This girl - and that damned correspondence!' _Loghain thought furiously.

Duncan also noted the look on the king's face with growing concern. He knew that the beloved and vainglorious King Cailan was an excellent warrior and an admirer of heroic tales, but it was no secret that the king was also a notorious philanderer. Despite his marriage to Teryn Loghain's daughter Anora, Cailan was not above committing dalliances with other women. Queen Anora considered ruling the kingdom in her husband's name consolation enough to overlook her husband's affairs. Though of late, there had been discerning rumors of marital discord between King Cailan and Queen Anora, and Cailan had become bolder than ever with his affairs. While Cailan had had plenty of time to revel in combat and heroics at Ostagar, there had been no opportunities to indulge in his other favorite pastime.

Duncan sincerely hoped that for Diora's sake, he had misread the gleam in King Cailan's eyes.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Amongst the pine trees in front of the mage encampment, Uldred observed the exchange in front of him. He had been unable to believe his eyes at first.

That girl.

Here. In Ostagar. No longer illusive. Tangible.

Uldred thought he had lost her forever when she escaped into the Eluvian at the freehold. And ever since, his damned Eluvian at the Circle Tower had refused to work for him. He could no longer commune with Imshael, the Ancient One in the Fade.

Uldred had practiced dark blood magic with the Eluvian in his possession, and he suspected that when the girl passed through the Eluvian at the farmhouse that night, she had somehow sealed it with the magic that ran in her own blood. At that time, his own Eluvian at the tower had been connected with the Eluvian that she had passed through, so the spell had inexplicably transferred to his own as well. Whatever the spell, it could only be undone with her blood. And once he used her blood to unlock his Eluvian, he would be able to cast his dark curse, and open up the portal between their worlds.

The timing was perfect! The stars would align again within a matter of days.

But this would require some thought. The girl now had the protection of the Grey Wardens. Uldred couldn't not afford to be hasty, less he lose his chance again.

A thin smile crept up Uldred's lips as he eyed the elven boy the girl had so staunchly defended. He began to form a plan.

One way or another, he would would have her blood…!


	8. The Road to the Follower's Camp

AN on 11-15-2015: Finally! An update after a really long time! Apologies to readers who have been kept waiting. Enjoy! =)

* * *

Chapter 7

The Road to the Follower Camp

Diora leaned on the bridge that spanned across the great ravine of Ostagar. While Wynne was healing Alistair and Leyonir, Diora pondered over the whirlwind of events that was her life the past few days - or months, if she was to believe Alistair's words. Duncan and Aedan had gone on to the war council. Of course, the trip to the follower camp was now delayed until after the war council.

She sighed deeply and drank in the beauty around her. How wonderful it felt to be able to let her guard down, just a little bit. Ever since meeting Duncan and especially after this morning's meeting with the king, it seemed things were finally looking up for her.

Though the sun blazed in the Ferelden sky, the mountain gale swept away most of the warmth the golden rays may have provided. The pine boughs groaned and creaked, rocking in tune to the wind's howling symphony. A great river rippled across the green valley, sparkling like a silver thread in the sunlight. Many times before in her enraptured imagination, Diora had traveled to the shining shores of Elysium and drank in the beauty of the fair lands that lay beneath alien sun and stars, but never in her imagination had it been as majestic as what she was now experiencing.

The subtle spell the beautiful landscape had woven over Diora was broken when Alistair walked over and joined her on the bridge. Seeing him now, an uneasy truth dawned on Diora. She remembered the warm pressure of Alistair's arms around her, could feel it even now, as distinctly as she had felt it when he had protected her from Vaughan's whip. Even more alarming was that the sensations he had stirred in her earlier had been far from unpleasant.

"I see Wynne healed you up quite nicely," Diora observed, trying to sound as light and normal as possible.

Alistair smugly crossed his arms and replied, "Didn't even scar. You haven't thanked me, yet, by the way."

Diora sighed gently and turned her gaze to the horizon. Guilt washed over her, and her voice trembled as she spoke, "I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you did. I do. But…" She cleared away the lump that had risen in her throat. "It's my fault you got hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt because of my actions. Ever again. Not you. Not anyone."

Alistair's face softened when the meaning behind her words sank in. He tried to lighten the mood with a his special blend of Alistair's self-deprecating humor. "Lady Diora, you don't have to worry about me. That was hardly a scratch. I've suffered worse in sword training. Besides, what I did was nothing compared to how you stunned the crowds and won King Cailan's favor."

Diora chuckled and rolled her eyes. "You're just trying to make me feel better. I'm sure you'd think differently if that handsome face of yours had been permanently scarred."

She instantly regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. What in Thedas had possessed her to say such a thing?!

A smile slowly crept up Alistair's face. "Wait… Is this your way of telling me _**you**_ think I'm handsome?" This was not the first time a woman had told him he was handsome, but hearing those words from Diora was different somehow.

"You _**know**_ you're handsome, Alistair." Something in the way he looked at her made Diora's heart give a quick, strange little beat. Still, she kept her tone light.

What Diora really wanted to do was smack herself upside the head.

"Maybe, but it doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl say it. Beats getting run through a sword any day, or getting flogged by some noble's whip." Alistair looked up at Diora with a half-shy, half-eager expression in his hazel eyes. He slowly asked, "So...is this the part where I get to say the same?"

Diora lips parted and she drew in a gentle, wondrous breath as pleasure bubbled forth within her. Then she realized that Alistair was still waiting for a response from her. Her hands dropped down to smooth the nonexistent wrinkles on her skirts. A flush of nervous heat rippled through her.

Alistair chuckled nervously. "Unless you would rather I not?" he offered.

"N-no! I mean, yes," Diora blurted out, then shook her head. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't think so." '_God, I'm an idiot!'_

"Oh, I think so. I'll just spring it on you when it's a surprise," Alistair told her with a laughing voice. Maker's breath, that girl probably did not even know how adorably flustered she looked right now. A bright pink flush had spread across her cheeks, bringing out the starry blue-grey of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin.

Diora's lips parted slightly and she drew in a gentle breath of wonder. _Mush._ That's what her mind had turned into. She was at a complete loss for words. She could solve derivatives, calculate the mass of atomic molar molecules, and name all the US presidents backwards, but flirting was a completely foreign subject for her.

Alistair simply was not like the boys back home. Unlike Alistair, boys back home did not evoke flashes of a time long gone, of chivalry and courtly love, princes in shining armor… That train of thought triggered another thought - one that had Diora narrowing her eyes in speculation.

"Wh...Why are you looking at me like that? Was it what I just said?" Alistair asked, slowly growing anxious under her scrutinizing stare.

"You…" Diora slowly lifted a finger and pointed at Alistair.

Alistair raised his brows inquisitively. "I…?"

Diora angled her head to catch a profile view of Alistair. "And the king -"

Alistair froze in place.

" - look remarkably alike."

"Don't...be silly," Alistair said weakly, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He glanced around nervously, making sure no one was in earshot.

Diora scrunched up her nose at him, slightly miffed. "I'm not being silly. You two do look like you could be brothers."

"We...do not," Alistair, having regained some of his composure, insisted.

Diora was not deterred. "If you just grew out your hair and-"

Alistair had no idea how he managed to do so, but he convincingly laughed off Diora's observations. "Sure. That's right. I'm the king's long-lost brother. I'm sure that story's never been told by anyone else anywhere else before."

"Now you're just making fun of me," Diora said, not sure to be pleased or annoyed at his teasing. "It was an honest observation."

"Dear lady, you wound me with your accusations. I dare not tarnish your honor with such mockery."

"You're doing it again!"

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

It was shortly past high noon when a messenger arrived with a message for Alistair, Diora, and Leyonir to meet with Duncan and King Cailan in His Majesty's canopy.

King's Cailan tent was huge - large enough to comfortably fit Diora, Alistair, Leyonir, and the dozen or so guards that made up the Cailan's retinue. Dominating one side of the tent was a woven tapestry depicting a hunting scene. Hanging over Cailan's king-sized cot was a banner of two red hounds against a white and gold backdrop. Each hound was standing on its rear legs while facing each other, and the way their front paws were positioned, it looked to Diora like the hounds were playing patty-cake with each other. She had to stifle the urge to giggle. She had no intention of offending His Majesty.

In the center of the tent, King Cailan poured over a pile of maps strewn across a sturdy and plain wooden table. Duncan and Teryn Loghain each stood on one side of the king, discussing the troops' next movements. Aedan and the rest of the soldiers watched silently.

Cailan raised his head and smiled as Diora, Alistair, and Leyonir made their way into the tent. He raised a hand to stop Diora from curtsying. "No need, m'lady. I've never cared much for such formalities, and I suspect all of us here dare not repeat this morning's episode," he said good-naturedly.

Diora blushed profusely as a few chuckles filled the tent. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Duncan tells me of his plans to have you delivered to the follower camp," Cailan continued.

Diora nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Alistair-"

"Actually, it is no longer necessary for Alistair to escort you," Cailan interrupted her. "The Grey Wardens are needed here to help train our troops, and we can scarce afford to spare even one. I have called you here to inform you that you will now be traveling to the follower camp under the protection of my royal guard. And your servant boy will of course accompany you as well."

A crestfallen look marred Alistair's face. What was Cailan up to?

"Really?" Diora squeaked, unsure of how else to reply. Honestly, she would rather travel to the camp with someone she trusted, like Alistair - not a handful of strange guards, no matter how loyal they might be to the king. But how was she to convey her message without offending King Cailan?

Sensing Diora's discomfort with Cailan's plan, Duncan spoke up, "Your Majesty, as I stated before, I express my gratitude for your help, but surely-"

"I've made up my mind, Duncan. Alistair must remain here and assist in training our troops against the darkspawn," Cailan said firmly.

And that was how Diora found herself in a carriage on her way to the follower camp a few hours later.

Okay, okay.

So King Cailan's royal carriage was less like a carriage and more like a palace on wheels - or a deluxe medieval party bus.

It had been built for comfort and elegance and needed at least six horses to pull it. The outside of the carriage was elaborately decorated with wooden carvings of mabari hounds and gilded with gold. The inside was capacious and lofty, and could comfortably hold at least half a dozen passengers. It was tall enough for a person to stand up and walk around in. Thick, velvet drapes hung from the windows. There was not an inch that was not lined with leather, or silk, or velvet. The seat cushions were padded and plush pillows and throws were available for extra comfort. There was even a small dining area in one end of the compartment, piled with fruit, and wine, and bread, and cheese.

_Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop..._

A single horseman would make the trip in half a day at a full gallop. At the the pace these horses were trotting, it would be nightfall before they reached the follower camp.

Soon, the landscape soon changed from rocky mountains to rolling hills. Pine trees evolved into more leafy, deciduous trees. And without the sweeping mountain gales, the sun's rays hinted at a warm spring to come.

In the later half of the trip, the convoy stopped to break for supper. Diora took this time to stretch her legs. The path ran between Ostagar and the follower camp ran right through the middle of a dense forest. Despite that, Diora decided that a bit of exercise wouldn't hurt, as long as she kept the convoy in sight.

While the dozen soldiers who served as her escort ate their supper, Diora and Leyonir, having helped themselves to the food in the carriage during the ride, explored. Dry twigs snapped and ferns rustled beneath Diora's feet. Here and there, golden sunlight splashed on the lush foliage growing wild across the ground, but for the most part, the spaces beneath the trees were quite shadowy and filled with an airy and ethereal glow. The mountain winds continued to make their sweet music across the leaves, a melody Diora had grown accustomed to since her arrival at Ostagar.

Nearby, Leyonir found small clusters of tiny white flowers called 'star flowers.' He delighted Diora when he presented her with a delicately woven crown of star flowers. The dainty, white stars shone bright against the dark waves in Diora's hair. Their gentle, dewy scent was sweeter than any designer perfume Diora had ever smelled.

Diora had learned much about her new "servant" during the past few hours they had spent together. She could not help but be reminded of her younger brother Teddy whenever she saw Leyonir. The physical resemblance was uncanny - both had dark chocolate-colored curly hair and bright blue eyes. Replace those pointy ears with human ones and add a few inches of height and Diora could have been looking at her brother's doppelganger.

Leyonir was only twelve years old. His parents had both passed away when he was young. He had one sibling, an older sister named Meriel, who worked in an Arl Urien's kitchens in Denerim. Leyonir showed Diora a braided leather bracelet that his sister had made for him before he had been chosen to accompany the arl's son, Lord Vaughan, to Ostagar.

"Meriel's got one, too, just like this. When she gave it to me, she said if I missed her, to just look down at the bracelet, and know that she was thinking of me, too,"

Diora smiled, touched by the affection that Leyonir and his sister had for each other. It just made her feel more homesick, and she silently promised to herself to be much nicer to Teddy if she ever made it back home.

"Lady Diora, look what I've found!" Leyonir suddenly called out excitedly.

Diora lifted her head in his direction. In his hands, Leyonir was holding up a cluster of the tiniest, but reddest strawberries Diora had ever seen in her life. Diora gingerly picked one up and plopped it into her mouth. Her eyes lit up with pleasure.

"Ohmigod, these are the most delicious strawberries I've ever tasted!" she exclaimed, indulging in the gush of tangy sweetness bursting in her mouth. "Try one, Leyonir!" she insisted.

Leyonir hesitated. "Me? A-are you sure, m'lady? There's hardly enough for one person."

"I order you to eat one," Diora said with mock seriousness.

Finally, after some more persuading from Diora, Leyonir picked out the smallest strawberry out of the bunch and placed it in his mouth. His eyes shone with satisfaction.

"Go on, have another," Diora urged him kindly.

The two of them enjoyed the strawberries in silence for a few moments, before Leyonir grinned at her with strawberry juice stained lips. "You looked so sad this morning. I'm glad you're in better spirits, Lady Diora," he said to her.

Diora gave him a little half smile and thoughtfully said, "Well… I am in better spirits. Thank you for noticing."

"_**I**_ should be thanking _**you**_, Lady Diora. You saved me from Lord Vaughan. I promise, Lady Diora, I will always serve you faithfully," Leyonir swore solemnly.

Diora was not used to hearing such grown up sounding words from someone so young. Twelve year olds back home were more interested in video games and hanging out with friends, not swearing their lives away to a person. Her heart suddenly went out to Leyonir. She wanted to cry for him and his harsh way of life. Based on what she had learned in her short time in Thedas, elves did not live an easy life. How terrible it must be to be an orphan and an elf.

"Leyonir, I know the king made you my servant, but I really would like it if we could be more like friends instead," she said gently.

Leyonir's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Friends, Lady Diora? You want to be friends? With an elf? With me?" he asked, amazed.

"Yes. What do you say?"

"Forgive me for saying this, but you are not like any human I've ever met, Lady Diora. But if you want to be friends..." Leyonir cast a doubtful look at Diora. "Are you sure?"

Diora nodded. "I honestly could use a friend more than I need a servant, Leyonir."

A giant smile broke out on Leyonir's face. "Friends," he simply stated, but Diora could hear the joyful hope in his voice.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

It was not long after the convoy had resumed its journey after supper that the carriage lurched to a sudden and jarring stop.

Like before, when they had paused for supper, Diora expected a guard to knock and inform her why they were stopping. Instead, shouting suddenly broke out. The sound of metal blade striking again metal blade rang in the air.

Diora pulled back curtain in the window and peeked outside.

"Lady Diora, is it darkspawn?" Leyonir asked fearfully.

"No...it's…" Diora's struggled to see through the encroaching evening shadows and the dissipating sunlight. Confusion, then alarm filled her eyes. This was no darkspawn attack. It was the king's guardsmen. Why were fighting each other?

Diora snapped her body back and screamed as two arrows lodged themselves into the side of the carriage where she was sitting.

"Get down, Leyonir!" she screamed, grabbing the elf and pushing him both to the floor of the carriage. She crawled on her knees to the carriage door and pulled down the set of bronze drop bar latches, just in time to prevent one of the soldiers from entering the carriage.

"She's locked us out!"

"Nevermind her for now, kill the others! We'll get her after!"

"What are we going to do?" Leyonir asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Diora's eyes scanned the carriage for anything to help them, a shield, a weapon, or a - She scrambled to her knees and began pulling up the fur rugs from underneath them. She hoped, she prayed…!

A trapdoor.

Diora lifted the trapdoor. "Hurry, Leyonir! We can escape through here, and make a run for it in the woods, or maybe-"

A pounding crash sounded at the door.

"Go, Leyonir! Hide underneath the carriage, and when you see the opportunity, run for the woods!" Diora ordered.

Another pounding crash, followed by the sound of splintering wood.

"But-"

Diora pushed Leyonir through the trapdoor just as the carriage door burst open.

"RUN!" Diora screamed, before someone reached down and pulled her up by her hair. A pair of dirty, bloody hands roughly grabbed her around the waist and half-dragged, half-carried her out of the coach.

Diora sobbed through grit teeth, kicking and clawing at her captor with all her might. Her captor unceremoniously dumped her on the ground in the center of the carnage. She blinked back her tears. Dead soldiers and weapons littered the area. The ground beneath them was soaked with blood.

Everyone else was dead, except for the two men who now leered down at her. The first, the one who had grabbed her, was the same man who had shot the arrows at the carriage. He was a slender man with an acne-riddled face and long, unkempt, oily strands of dark blond hair.

The second man was darker and stockier. He had a bloody sword in one hand and a dagger in the other.

"Well, Doyle, look what we got here," said the man who had caught her.

"Let's have a bit of fun with her before we do her in, Tate," suggested then Doyle, reaching for a strand of Diora's hair.

"Don't touch me!" Diora slapped Doyle's porky hands away from her. "The Grey Wardens and the King-"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch! The King and and Wardens will never find out. You'll just be victim of a brutal darkspawn attack once we're done here!" Tate snarled at her, backhanding Diora hard across the face.

The taste of blood filled her mouth. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Give me your dagger, Doyle," Tate ordered, holding out his hand.

"What for, Tate?"

"Just give me your dagger."

Diora inched back. '_If I'm going to die, then at least Leyonir got away. I hope he's -'_

She let a out a scream when Tate took Doyle's dagger and slashed Doyle across the throat. She crawled back, repulsed by the warm, sticky spray of blood. She could not stop screaming, even after Doyle collapsed in front of her, blood spurting from his neck.

Tate crouched down until his eyes were level with hers. "Now… I want to see what's so special about the king's new plaything, yeah? If you're nice, maybe I'll even grant you a quick death," he sneered at her. He tossed the dagger aside and began to disassemble his armor and unfasten his leather chaps.

Diora crawled away from him when he reached for her. The bodice of her dress tore off one shoulder as she struggled to escape from his grasp. She squeezed her eyes shut. No! This couldn't really be happening! This-

"Let go of Lady Diora!" a voice rang out, followed by the dull thud of a rock cracking against the back of Tate's skull.

Tate's eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped over to the ground, unconscious.

"Leyonir!" Diora embraced the elf and sobbed into his dark, curly hair. Relief coursed through her. "You came back. You came back! I was scared…. I was so scared!" She pulled him away from her and examined him for signs of injury. "Are you okay? You're not hurt anywhere?"

"No, Lady Diora. I'm all right."

With some help from Leyonir, Diora managed to stand. Gasping for breath, she limped over to horses still harnessed to the coach. "Quickly! We need to take one of these horses back to Ostagar, to tell the Duncan what's happened."

Leyonir shook his head. "But I can't ride a horse, milady."

"That's alright. You'll just ride with me, then," Diora reassured him.

Diora had spent some time during her summer camps riding horses, but the last time she had been to summer camp was in the 8th grade. What the hell did it matter anyway? She didn't have time to be worried or anxious right now, she just needed to get them the hell out of there.

She picked the strongest looking horse, a great chestnut bay stallion. As fast as she could manage, she unharnessed him from the rest of the horses. It whinnied and flickered its ears back and forth. Its dark brown eyes roved nervously. Diora gently rubbed her hands across a great chestnut bay's side. She shushed and nicked quietly, combing her fingers through the stallion's soft mane.

Diora hiked up her skirt, slipped her foot into the stirrup, and swung herself up into the saddle. She glanced around in alarm. "Leyonir, where are you?" she asked in the growing darkness.

"I'm here," Leyonir replied, passing an object off to Diora. While Diora had been unharnessing the stallion from the carriage, he had climbed back into the carriage to grab Diora's duffle bag off the velvet settee.

Diora wrapped the duffle bag around her shoulders. She reached down and grabbed Leyonir's arm. "Pull yourself up in front of-"

Leyonir gasped sharply. He staggered back a couple of steps and looked down at his chest.

That was when Diora saw the arrow protruding through Leyonir's chest.

_NO…!_

_**NO!**_

"Lady… D-Diora…!" Leyonir gasped in a broken voice. Blood bubbled forth from his mouth. He slid to his knees.

Diora's lips formed a silent scream as the life faded from Leyonir's eyes.

Images flashed by. Pine boughs bending in tune to the rush of mountain wind, two small hands cupping a cluster of sweet strawberries, the dainty floral perfume of a crown of white star flowers, a delicate leather bracelet.

"_Friends, Lady Diora?" _the words echoed in her memory.

And then it was over.

Through her tear-filled eyes, she saw Tate, holding up an ornate bow in his hands. He reached into the quiver of arrows on his back and pulled out another arrow.

Whatever fear and sorrow Diora may have felt condensed into a single, primal need for survival from the predator that stalked her. Adrenaline kicked in. She kicked the stallion into a furious gallop, leaving behind a trail of dust and tears.

_Thunk!_

The arrow lodged into the duffle bag behind her. The second arrow ripped through her flesh and lodged deeply into her upper back. A sharp, burning pain shot up her right shoulder and down her arm.

Still, she rode.

She didn't know how much time had gone by or far she had traveled before she spiraled down into a restless state of semi consciousness.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

A deep dark night had already set in when a lone rider, slumped over a horse, slowly rode up the torch-lit path to the main gates of Ostagar. The gates opened, and Teryn Loghain, torch in one hand and sword in the other, marched up to the horse and rider.

The soldier accompanying the teryn gasped upon recognizing the man in the firelight. "That man is one of the guards who accompanied the Warden Commander's charge to the follower camp! What is he doing back here? We didn't expect them back until tomorrow!"

Loghain reached for the object the man was holding tightly in his hand. "This is...a darkspawn arrow!" He turned to the soldier beside him. "Ser Cauthrien, go and report this man's return to His Majesty. And hurry!"

Ser Cauthrien nodded. "Yes, My Lord," she said before briskly turning around and running into the main encampment.

Once Ser Cauthrien was out of hearing distance, the Teryn shone the torch directly in the rider's face. Loghain's grey eyes stared hard into the rider's. "Is the girl dead?" he whispered into the man's ear.

"Yes, My Lord." Tate was not answering the teryn's question truthfully, but he knew that last arrow had struck the girl. In his mind, there was no way the girl would survive the night in the Wilds with an arrow stuck to her back. And Tate knew he needed to tell the teryn what the teryn wanted to hear.

"And the bodies and witnesses?"

"Dead and burned, My Lord, just as you ordered."

"Good. You know what to do."

"Yes, My Lord. I'll tell King Cailan and the Wardens that the convoy was attacked by darkspawn."

* * *

Preview of next chapter: Diora versus Morrigan, an exchange of wit and will


	9. The Witch of the Wilds

_**AN:**_ _A word of thanks to all the readers who have stuck with me and this story thus far. It feels wonderful to have your support as I continue Diora's story in Thedas. This chapter and the next (already in the works) marks a turning point in Diora's tale, and I am super excited about it and hope you all enjoy. -Ella_

* * *

Chapter 8

The Witch of the Wilds

Diora's adventure in Thedas was shaping out to be a punishment right out of a Greek tragedy. She was the heroine doomed to suffer as an innocent tool in fate's hands. She had never been a fan of the Greek tragedies.

Now she had a reason to hate them.

Her limp frame hung haphazardly over the her mount. The stallion's sinewy warmth and gentle, steady trotting lulled Diora in and out of consciousness.

_Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop._

Through her half-closed eyes, Diora watched the brilliant orange sun begin its descent in the west. Tiny sparkles of starry silver glittered against the streaks of pink and grey and violet in the painted sky. A carousel of visions whirled around and around in her head and a cacophony of voices weaved in and out of her dreams.

_Gnarled hands waving around a fortune teller's crystal globe… 'The inevitable time is soon to come, be it for good or evil… __Your reflection is cast in the mirror of illusion, darkness, and blood...'_

_Beady black eyes, full of hatred and dark vile… 'I asked the Eluvian to show me the most worthy sacrifice, and it brought you to me...'_

_Star-shaped flowers floated down from the sky and filled the air with their delicate floral scent… 'Friends, Lady Diora...?'_

An owl hooted nearby.

Diora's eyes fluttered wide open. The jerking motion of her awakening body disrupted her precarious balance and she fell off the stallion. She landed on her side with a soft thud. A cry of agony escaped her lips as a lightning hot jab of pain bolted down her back and right arm. She took quick, shallow breaths until the throbbing subsided. Very carefully, not even daring to breathe, Diora slowly turned until she was flat on her stomach. Thank goodness she had landed on her side and not on her back.

Diora tried to raise herself up on her arms. She cursed through grit teeth and nearly fainted from the pain. '_I can't move my body,'_ she thought, collapsing back to the ground.

That's when she felt something in her tightly clenched hand. Delicate, yet strong, smooth yet rough at the same time. She didn't need to see it to know what it was.

Leyonir's bracelet.

It must had slipped off Leyonir's arm when... How had she managed to hold on to it all this time?

Through a blur of tears, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, taking in her surroundings. A thicket of shrubs and leaves had broken her fall. She was no longer on the road. Instead, Diora found herself in a lush forest nook, surrounded by curtains of overgrown hanging vines and a canopy of leaves overhead.

Wispy bands of greys and violets stretched out across the sky. The moon had already risen, a crescent sliver of pearl in the sky.

In addition to feeling like a red-hot fire poker was taking its sweet ass time scorching a hole through her shoulder, Diora now faced terrifying thought of spending the night in the forest injured and alone. Even if she survived the night, how would she ever find her way back to Ostagar?

A tiny sob escaped from her lips.

Then…

A hooting owl. A flutter in the trees. The sudden rustle of wind.

Tiny clouds of dust and swirling leaves blew up into her face. The dust stung her eyes and tickled her dry throat. Diora shut her eyes and coughed weakly. She winced as each tiny shudder sent waves of pain wracking through her body.

Then footsteps.

From their limited vantage point on the ground, Diora spied two slim feet clad in black leather boots stepping towards her. The feet stopped about a yard away from the front of her face.

Inch by inch, Diora's eyes sssslooooowwwwwly ascended along a pair of Victoria's Secret Angel-esque gams. They skimmed across jaggedly hewn strips of leather and soft hide that had been sewn together to form a loose skirt around bony hips and a tiny waist. Diora's deliberate gaze continued to travel up an exposed abdomen and a skimpy, burgundy tank top which dipped into a deep V and flowed freely over a set of envy-inducing, gravity defying -

Despite the agony she was in, Diora still maintained a shred of modesty. She averted her bashful eyes away from the prominent display of side boobage. All it would take was one swift and unforeseen breeze, and Diora was sure she would be a reluctant witness to a "flying shirt" accident not unlike Marilyn Monroe's iconic "Isn't it delicious?" scene with the white dress and subway air vent in _The Seven Year Itch._

The owner of said glorious boobage began to gradually kneel down until her own face was mere inches above Diora's.

Diora found the courage to shift her eyes forward... and gulped.

Black, side swept bangs partially obscured a pale, heart-shaped face. The rest of the hair was pulled back into a severe bun, from which an array of iridescent blue-black feathers fanned out. Eyelids shaded deep Tyrian violet and lips stained crimson red stood out in stark contrast against their owner's flawless white complexion.

The stranger's eyes were the most striking feature of all: wild, hypnotizing...hungry, even… They gleamed at Diora, shining like two yellow diamonds in the dark.

Had the horse somehow led her out of the Dragon Age and into the Twilight zone? No, not the television show from the 1950' and 60's, but the vampire universe created by Stephenie Meyer.

Because the face before her surely belonged to an immortal vampire queen.

What other logical-but-still-fucked-up explanation could Diora come up with to explain to explain this astoundingly alluring woman's appearance in a gust of wind?

'_Don't look into her eyes! She's trying to glamour you!'_ Diora's inner voice tried warning her. But try as she might, she just - Could. Not. Look. Away…!

The blood-red lips twitched into a small, wicked smile. A silky voice, one that Diora expected a vampiress would have, broke the silence:

"Well, well… What have we here?"

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Duncan sat on his cot, elbows resting on his knees, forehead resting on his clasped hands, as though in prayer. However, the Warden Commander was not praying. Instead, he remained deep in thought over the troubling news he had just received.

A darkspawn attack on the convoy delivering Diora to the follower camp. No survivors, save the single man who had traveled back to Ostagar tonight to tell the tale.

Duncan sighed and rubbed his forehead. Shadows from the single, flickering flame in his tent danced across the planes of his face, emphasizing the darkness beneath his eyes and the weariness that marred across swarthy features. He rose from his cot when Alistair walked into his tent.

"Duncan… Is it true? Diora's..." Alistair choked the words out and couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Duncan nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry, Alistair."

Alistair pounded his fist on Duncan's bedside table. "Damn it! Why did we agree to Cailan's request?! Even then, I should've insisted on accompanying her! Why didn't I go with her?! I should've-"

Duncan placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Our reports had indicated that there was no darkspawn activity north of here. No one could have expected this. Do not blame yourself, Alistair."

"We did this to her. We should've taken Diora back to that mirror in the Wilds as soon as we found out the truth about her. She would be back in her world and safe, not dead on the road somewhere," Alistair said bitterly.

Alistair had refused to believe that Diora was gone until he heard the words from Duncan. Now, all Alistair could think about was Diora's last moments. How frightened she must have been before -! Alistair squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't bear to bring himself to think anymore about her final moments.

"Grieve for her if you must, Alistair, but remember that you are a Grey Warden, and our duties as Wardens must take precedence above all else," were the only words of comfort Duncan could offer.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

"So, are you always this articulate?" Morrigan mocked the gaping girl after several minutes had passed. She rolled her eyes and sighed with disgust when the girl continued to simply stare without a word. She walked over to the stallion and led it to the same tree, securely trying the reins around a low-hanging branch.

Diora's eyes followed the stranger, who was now scouring the brushes for dry leaves and snapping small branches into smaller pieces. '_In _Twilight, _vampires with yellow eyes are vegetarians - NO, wait. In _True Blood _\- oh, God! Now I'm taking Dragon Age survival lessons from _Twilight _and _True Blood_!? Do vampires even exist in Thedas? God, I hate this place...'_

"I watched your progress for some time. Truly, you were so still I thought you quite dead and beyond hope - until you fell off your horse, that is." Morrigan scooped the leaves and kindling into a tidy little mound. She pulled out a dagger and flint and struck them against each other other until the sparks lit the shavings on fire.

Diora cringed when the vampire reached down and pulled her up by the armpits. "Please don't eat me or drink my blood!" she blurted out the first thought that popped in her mind.

Morrigan shot the girl a dirty look and dropped her like a sack of potatoes. "Eat you?! What do you take me for, a hunger abomination?! One would think you would be more grateful for my help. 'Twould serve you right if I leave you here to die alone instead. The beasts will certainly get you once night falls, if your wound doesn't kill you first," she said in a superior tone of voice. She stepped over the girl in a dramatic show of nonchalance.

"NO! You can't go! Please don't leave me alone!" Diora begged desperately when the strange woman stood up to leave. With a startling burst of speed and energy she did not even know she had left within her, Diora swiftly reached out and wrapped her arms tightly around the stranger's legs, clinging as though for dear life.

_**SPLAT!**_

Morrigan keeled over and landed on the ground face first. She howled furiously and spat out bits of dirt and leaves from her mouth. She chucked a fistful of sod and foliage back at the creature holding her prisoner . "Release me, you little fool!"

Diora violently shook her head. "I won't! If you leave me here to die, I swear I will come back as a ghost to haunt you! You'll never have a moment's peace! I'll be worse than Stephen King's Pennywise!" she threatened, invoking the name of the scariest thing her mind could draw up at the moment. Her shoulder was throbbing, burning, but she still refused to let go.

Morrigan laughed. "Oh! You would do better to haunt the person who shot you with that arrow. And who is this King Pennywise of Stephen you speak of? I know not of any ruler or country by such- "

"Please, _I can't die here!_"

Morrigan glared back at the girl. This ungrateful, simple-looking girl… She had an arrow in her back and couldn't even stand up on her own two feet - and yet she still had the nerve to threaten Morrigan. It was infuriating…!

"Please!" Diora pleaded.

'_Oh, I hope I don't regret this...'_ Morrigan pursed her lips and exhaled loudly through her nose. "Very well. As long as you mind your manners, I shall stay."

Diora sighed and released her grip. "Thank you…!".

Appeased - at least for for the moment - Morrigan helped the girl sit back up against the tree and then sat down next to the girl. "The fire will keep the beasts away tonight. Fortunately for us, the darkspawn have not made it here... Yet. Now, let us be more civilized. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Diora certainly did not want to be the one to offer up her name first, but giving up her name was a by far more preferable option than offending this beautiful woman again and being left alone to die. "I - It's Diora. Diora Starr. Please to make your acquaintance," Diora introduced herself.

"Now, that is a proper civil greeting indeed, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan," Morrigan said in response.

Diora had no idea if this Morrigan was really impressed or simply being sarcastic.

"Water?" Morrigan pulled out a skin of water and offered it to Diora. When Diora eyed the pouch cautiously and made no move to take it, Morrigan took a giant swig. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Are you truly so mistrustful?" she grumbled.

"Morrigan...why are you helping me?" Diora asked, avoiding Morrigan's question altogether.

Morrigan shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? 'Tis not often that I meet many people in the Wilds."

"So you live here...in the Wilds?"

Morrigan stared wistfully into the flamed. Her eyes reflected the firelight and danced like two shiny gold coins. "Not all are monsters in the Wilds. Flowers grow as well as toads..." she said in a faraway voice.

Diora blinked a couple times. Wow. Without the confrontational edge to her voice and the frosty glare in her eyes, Morrigan looked...lonely.

'_... I wonder if she has any friends… Now that I think about it, she looks younger than I first thought. We look like we could be the same age - even though that attitude makes her sound WAY older...'_

"...I live in the forest with my mother."

"Your mother?" Diora repeated, half distracted by her own thoughts.

Morrigan shot Diora a withering stare, and a harsh annoyance immediately replaced the fleeting bit of wistfulness that had been in her voice just seconds ago. "Yes, my mother! Did you think I spawned from a log?"

Diora shrank back into herself. Morrigan's glare was positively dangerous, it was a wonder to Diora that she had not turned into stone. Diora was almost certain Morrigan must have taken personal death-stare lessons from the Medusa, the mythological gorgon whose eyes turned unfortunate onlookers into Greek garden statues.

'_Maybe I hallucinated that wistful expression on her face...' _Diora thought to herself. It was quite possible. Diora had, after all, lost a lot of blood after her injury.

"Anyways, shall I guess your purpose here, or were you going to tell me yourself what you were doing wandering in the woods with an arrow in your back?" Morrigan asked, not even bothering to mask her aggravation.

"I was on my way to the follower camp with King Cailan's guards. But we were attacked… and..." As the memories of the attack came back, Diora's voice broke down. She recalled the look on Leyonir's face as he…! Diora swallowed back a sob. "My friend… he died…"

"How embarrassing that the king's guards were defeated by simple bandits," scoffed Morrigan, hardly moved by Diora's display of emotion. She reached into her belt and pulled out the same dagger she had used to light the fire. She held the blade out above the flames.

"No, it wasn't bandits, it was -!" Diora paused abruptly.

_Who, indeed? _

That was the million dollar question.

Diora stared into the air with glazed over eyes, her mouth slightly agape. Thoughts raced through her mind. '_The caravan was attacked, and by members of King Cailan's own guard. Why? It… No. That makes no sense. Did someone order the attack to… to kill __**me**__? But who? Why would someone want me dead? It couldn't be King Cailan, could it? No- those guys said the king would never find out the truth. He and the Grey Wardens would blame the dark-'_

Diora gasped. A lightbulb - an idea-

A DAGGER RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER FACE.

Diora squealed with fright and defensively flailed her good arm at the dagger.

Morrigan slapped Diora's arm away. "Do not be so squeamish! I will need to cut into the wound to extract the arrow." She poked gingerly at the blade she had been holding over the fire, and then cocked her head and inspected Diora's wound. "The blade is hot, and it will burn, but that shall stem the bleeding until-"

"Ugh! No!" Diora shuddered and tried to block out the horrifying images of blood and singed flesh that Morrigan's words had evoked.

"You are afraid. Or you doubt my abilities, perhaps? While I am no healer, I assure you, I _can_ mix together a simple healing poultice once the arrow has been pulled out."

"You are _not_ going to pull this arrow out."

"Oh? Shall I put you out of your misery instead?"

"Of course not!"

Morrigan furiously jammed the dagger back into its sheath on her belt. "Fine! I am to assume you have a better suggestion?" she asked sarcastically.

"As a matter of fact, Morrigan, I do," Diora replied.

Morrigan hid her confusion beneath a mask of annoyance. "Well, then, what is it to be? Don't just sit there, tell me!"

Diora remained silent, but her eyes spoke volumes. They were blazingly alive, like the blue grey ocean just as the first rays of dawn struck its rippling waters.

She needed to get back to Ostagar.

Tonight.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Diora and Morrigan were on horseback, slowly and steadily sauntering their way back to Ostagar. They avoided the main road, traveling through the forest instead. They traveled at a slower pace to accommodate Diora's injury. Morrigan held the reins and led the horse, while Diora tried not to fall asleep against Morrigan's back. Diora had no idea the horse had led her so far into the Wilds and away from Ostagar.

"I cannot believe I'm really doing this..." Morrigan complained to herself. She wondered how had she allowed herself to be talked into taking Diora back to Ostagar under the cover of night. Traveling during daylight would be far more practical and much safer.

"Keep talking to me, or I might pass out," Diora implored. Before setting out on their journey, Morrigan had mixed together a poultice for pain for Diora. While it provided some relief, it had left Diora feeling incredibly drowsy.

" 'Twould be a relief if you did," Morrigan sharply snapped back. '_Not a word of thanks from this one, just orders…!'_

Morrigan found her companion to be impossibly exasperating. And infuriating. And perplexing. Diora still insisted on having that arrow lodged in her. _And_ Diora adamantly refused to tell Morrigan what she had planned until they reached Ostagar.

"Tell me that story again... the one about the Witch of the Wilds...Flemeth. I didn't... understand it all the first time," Diora murmured. She nodded off, only to jerk herself awake.

In an attempt to keep Diora conscious - and at Diora's insistence - the two of them had taken turns trading stories.

"Truly, you must be the only person in all of Thedas who does not know the legend of Mo- of Flemeth. Even little children have heard the tales," Morrigan chastised Diora.

_'Of course I don't know the legend. I'm not from this god-awful world.' _"And I can't believe you've never heard Disney's tale of Aladdin," Diora rambled slowly.

Morrigan's lip twisted into a sneer. "A story about a demon trapped in a bottle who grants wishes but does _not_ wish to possess you? Nonsense! 'Tis no wonder I've never heard of this bard, this..._Disney_. Tell me, are all his tales this ridiculous?"

_'Duh! You've never heard of Disney because he doesn't exist in Thedas.' _"It's not a demon. It's a genie. In an oil lamp. And I happen to enjoy his tales very much."

"And that Princess Jasmine. Un-be-lieve-able! She was a _princess!_ She could have married any lord or king, and she married that peasant boy Aladdin."

"Because she loved him."

Morrigan choked out a laugh. "To indulge in love is to indulge in delusion. 'Tis better to be free of it. Love is fleeting and has no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Just think of yourself and your current predicament," she said loftily.

Diora pondered Morrigan's words in silence. While she did not completely agree with Morrigan cynical point of view, Diora saw the practicality in Morrigan's words. They made sense, especially when applied to Diora's own current all-the-elements-in-the-universe-lined-up-to-seriously-eff-up-your-life situation.

_'Holy shit, this b**** actually makes sense.' _"I suppose the survival and power part is true," Diora reluctantly agreed.

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder and scowled at Diora. "You _suppose_ it's true? I'm telling you, Diora, '_tis true!_"

"Then I guess I don't really know what to believe," Diora sighed wearily.

"Hmm... An honest answer, even if a vapid one. Perhaps you'll learn in time, if fortune smiles upon you," Morrigan mused aloud. Then as an afterthought, she added, "And if you do not die first."

_'Eff you, too, Morrigan.' _"Thanks... for that vote of confidence, Morrigan," Diora said in between yawns.

"Why, you're welcome," Morrigan responded in a silky-sweet voice.

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

_How odd that Alistair should find himself back in the Arl Eamon's barn loft. Hmm, it sure seemed smaller and more cramped than he remembered. He hadn't been back to Redcliffe in years, not since Arl Eamon and Lady Isolde packed and shipped him off to the monastery._

_Alistair crouched down and glanced out the window. From here, he overlooked the shores of Lake Calenhad and the entire village of Redcliffe. How many times had he glanced up at the stars from this perch, wishing away his loneliness upon the Golden Star?_

_He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. _

_Alistair turned and drew a sharp breath. _

_It wasn't possible!_

"_Diora! You're alive!" he gasped._

"_Alistair, come," she urged him._

_Alistair followed her out of the loft, out of the barn, and into the village. Diora weaved in and out of the throng of villagers - or was she actually __**floating**_ _through them? He started running, heedless of the people he was knocking into. The quicker he ran, the faster she retreated from him. Alistair ran until he reached the small, open clearing right before the bridge leading out of the village._

_It did not make sense. He should be able to see her clearly from here._

_Diora had disappeared._

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

Alistair bolted upright off his bedroll with a start. His heart was pounding, his breaths deep and ragged. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. He glanced around over to the other side of the tent he shared with Aedan, and he slightly was relieved to find his companion's bedroll empty.

That dream.

It made Alistair's scalp crinkle. It was the same prickling sensation he had felt the first moment he laid eyes on Diora at the marketplace in Denerim. Since that moment she ran into him, Alistair had felt an inexplicable connection to her.

And now he knew why.

He couldn't have been more than ten years old, but what was once long lost in childhood memory was now as sharp and clear as though it had happened yesterday.

_Diora was the girl who had appeared to him in the loft that morning so long ago._

* * *

.o0O0o.

* * *

The blanket of night was starting to give way to the grey twilight before dawn when Morrigan and Diora reached the outskirts of Ostagar. Morrigan pulled back on the horse's reins and brought the stallion to a stop in a small clearing. There was a small, bubbling brook nearby where the horse could drink and she could fill her skin of water.

Morrigan glanced over her shoulder. "We're here. Wake up," she hissed none-too-gently. In addition to giving her a terrible kink in the neck, having a passenger lay across her back for half the night had left Morrigan feeling more irritable than normal

Diora's eyes fluttered open.

And she instantly regretted it.

She groaned as the familiar throbbing in her shoulder set in, though she also suspected that the pain poultice Morrigan had given her was wearing off. Sleep had been a welcome reprieve from pain. And there had been something more… but she couldn't remember what it was, only that it must have been a wonderful dream.

"Are we there?" Diora mumbled.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Morrigan replied, rolling her eyes. She slid off the horse and, despite Diora's moans and protests, pulled Diora off the horse, too.

"Why are we stopping here? Why aren't you taking me to the gates?" Diora asked, bracing herself against the stallion's sturdy frame.

"Because we had a deal," Morrigan replied, filling her skin of water. She took a sip before handing the pouch to Diora. "You told me to get you to Ostagar, and you would tell me what you had planned. Well, we're here. And I have no intention of going further until-"

The sound of a dog barking caught them both off guard. Then more barking, closer now, and voices.

"Blast and damnation!" Morrigan cursed quietly. She narrowed her yellow eyes and stared in the direction of the noise. Movements in the brush and rustling leaves indicated a party of at least two men. In the grey morning and the cover of the trees, Morrigan could barely make out the sigils on their armor. She knew it would be but minutes before they were found.

Diora's eyes grew wide and fearful when Morrigan turned a cold, calculating stare at her. What was Morrigan planning to do? Surely, Morrigan had not brought Diora this far only to kill her now? Then, to Diora's surprise, Morrigan's crimson lips curled up into smile.

"Truly, 'twas a pleasure to meet you, Diora. Do not doubt that our paths will cross again," Morrigan promised in a deep, velvety tone.

"What?! Please don't leave-!" Diora cried desperately as Morrigan turned and broke into run-

It all happened so fast, Diora's mind could not quite make sense of what her eyes saw next.

"Uh- uh-uh-uh- wha-! Buh-but-! Ha-huh-!" Diora's trembling lips bobbed up and down in a series of incoherent babble. Her legs threatened to give way beneath her. The skin of water slowly slid from her hands and landed with a dull, gushing thud on the forest floor.

One second, Morrigan had been running away with her back turned to Diora. Then, with a sudden flourish of hands, a gust of wind, and a swirl of dust and leaves, she had transformed into a black crow that now flapped its wings as it flew away into the woods.

Morrigan might not be a vampire… But she was definitely a witch...!

_A Witch of the Wilds._


End file.
